The Tinkerer
by wickwynn
Summary: The Dursley family, who valued normalcy above all else, would of course never dream of keeping their orphan nephew in a cupboard, or of making a spectacle of him. That isn't to say they wanted to spend all of their time and money on him, however. From the salvage of broken toys and unwanted junk, left alone to his own devices, Harry built dreams.
1. Chapter 1

The Tinkerer

Chapter 1

Growing up, he had been given the most modest room in a modest house, furnished by only the most modest of things; many of them hand-me-downs from his cousin, many of them broken things, many of them stained, poorly calibrated, or for some other reason unwanted things.

When he was five he had come into the possession of one such "simply unwanted thing," a multitool. A rather large thing for his little hands, it had a set of pliers with a wire cutter, it had several screwdrivers and little knives, it had a file and it had a can opener. And the metal had a nice red finish, and it came with a nice red fake-leather pouch in which to store it. A gift by some well-meaning person to his cousin, or perhaps to his uncle - it was hard to know who had been its originally intended owner, but it was known that it had been unwanted, for it was only unwanted things that tended to find their way into his possession.

His multitool was his favorite thing he owned, because it allowed him to fix all of the other things he owned. There were very few simple toys or devices that could not be repaired with a multitool and a sound understanding of the device's intended functionality.

When Dudley said, "I don't want it," or "It's broken," or "It's dumb," Harry's ears perked up. Those words or some variation were uttered on a near-daily basis by his cousin, and Harry would always say, "Well, I'll take it if you don't want it." Harry knew that if it was broken, he could use his shiny red multitool to fix it, and if it was dumb then he could use his multitool to take it apart and see how it worked.

Eventually Dudley just began leaving broken and unwanted things in his room as a matter of course, as though it were the standard way of disposing of junk – and after a while, Dudley stopped saying "I don't want it," or "It's broken," or "It's dumb," and started saying instead, "I gave it to Harry," and that sentence meant the same thing.

Dudley always got a new thing, or a better thing, and Harry got the hand-me-down. It worked out very well for both of them, and it worked out well for Harry's aunt and uncle, too, who were glad that they never had to buy Harry anything new. That was just how things went in their house.

Harry was an incredibly quiet and well-mannered boy. He rarely spoke unless he was directly addressed, nor did he have any interest in being directly addressed. He spent his days in his room upstairs, tinkering with his broken things, quiet and out of the way, for all intents and purposes pretending not to exist at all, and his relatives were happy to pretend the same.

His talents were no small benefit to the Dursleys, though. When they weren't pretending he didn't exist, Harry's uncle, Vernon, would often set him on a project to fix or build something. He was more often than not pleased with the results. And after all, what could look more wholesome to the neighbors than a small kid eagerly helping his uncle build a new fence or some trellises for the vines? The results were good and the labor was completely free.

It was true that things were not always pleasant at Number Four, but things could have been much worse, all things considered. The little family, orphan nephew and all, lived quite peacefully.

Harry was aware, of course, that things would not be so peaceful if he had not been so useful to his family. But that bothered him not in the least, because he liked doing what he did. His efforts self-rewarding and sometimes his uncle would even thank him for his good work.

For Christmas 1997, Dudley received a personal computer, a business-class model built by IBM. Dudley was very excited about his new computer until he actually plugged it in on Boxing Day and he realized that it didn't come with any games. Dudley's friends all had Ataris at least, and some of them even had Nintendos, but all Dudley had, as he pointed out almost every day to his parents, was a dumb, useless, business computer.

As the months dragged on, Dudley continued to pester his parents and whine about how all the other boys in the neighborhood had a Nintendo, or at least something that could play decent games. And every time Dudley brought it up, Harry would silently cheer for his cousin, thinking _convince them, convince them, convince them_! Although Harry couldn't care less if Dudley was happy with his toys, he was rooting for his cousin every step of the way – because he knew that that computer would eventually be his. Harry would often remind his cousin about the computer, in case he should forget to whine one day, and he even helped Dudley come up with better arguments to use against his parents to get his way.

"It's educational," Vernon said gruffly one April evening over dinner when the conversation turned yet again towards Dudley's dissatisfaction. "Pretty soon the whole world will be running on those machines. We just had several dozen installed at Grunnings."

"I don't want something educational," Dudley pouted. "I want to play computer games."

"Well, Dudley, if you learn how to use that machine, it'll give you a serious advantage later on, you know," Vernon said.

Harry had rarely seen his aunt or uncle try so hard to convince Dudley of anything at all. But then, that computer, even though it had been discounted thanks to Vernon's office purchasing them in bulk, was still tremendously expensive, so it made sense that they would want him to at least give it a fair try. Although it was meaningless to the others present at the dinner table, Harry knew the specs for the machine. It really was quite the little work horse and he imagined that the personal computer would be an endless source of entertainment for him, once it was inevitably his, because unlike Dudley, Harry had no interest in Nintendo games.

Harry gave Dudley a bit of a kick under the table and caught his eye. Dudley was about to yell at Harry when he realized that Harry was trying to help him, and remembered his coaching. Dudley was just dim enough that while he could remember a plan of action, he might need to be reminded to actually do it – he also happened to be just at that precipice of dimness where he would appreciate Harry's help without analyzing Harry's private motivations for helping him. Harry rationalized that it was an arrangement that helped the both of them, and so Harry felt not the least pang of guilt for making good use of his cousin's dimwittedness.

"But mum," Dudley said, ignoring his father's argument. "Won't it look weird if I'm the only kid with this weird office appliance, instead of a Nintendo?"

Harry's Aunt Petunia was in some ways not a particularly bright woman. She had never worked, had no useful skills, almost never read books, and almost never had anything even a little bit insightful to say. When it came to social matters, however, Harry's aunt was a savant: Petunia analyzed all the possibilities more quickly than even the most state-of-the-art computer possibly could, considering all the variables of the neighborhood and the social situations at play, then she clicked her tongue and said, "I should think Mrs. Paddentry should take a lesson from us."

Neither of the boys had the faintest idea who that was, but they saw that the argument was a non-starter.

Harry might have been able to interject with a clever point here, but it would work against his interests to show that he had a horse in this race, so he remained mute, only giving Dudley another little kick to urge him to persist. They had, after all, prepared several different arguments.

"None of my friends will want to come around when I'm the only kid who hasn't got a Nintendo," Dudley said, inflecting sadness and social insecurity.

"Oh Diddy-dums!" Petunia exclaimed. "Oh, you couldn't possibly think that. Your friends will still come around, of course."

"I suppose I'll just have to go to Piers' house every day," Dudley said, seemingly consoling himself.

Harry saw the change in his aunt's eyes. That argument, it seemed, had worked. She would not want her darling son to want to spend all of his free time away at his friends houses, instead of here where she could dote on him – and perhaps even more importantly, she would not want Mrs. Polkiss to think that Dudley didn't like spending time at home. "Dear," Petunia said, turning to her husband. "Maybe we should get Dudley one of these Nintenders."

"Nintendos," the boys chorused.

"Nintendos, then," she agreed.

Vernon sighed gruffly, an admission of defeat. He had enough faith in his wife's social strategizing to know that she probably had a very good reason for changing her mind, and he wouldn't fight against it. Certainly not in front of the kids. "We'll see on your birthday, Dudley."

Two months later, it was Dudley's birthday. Dudley had some unique mental gifts of his own: somehow he was able to root through all thirty-odd packages to find the wrapped box that contained his prize, and opened it first. Harry grinned as Dudley gushed over the brand new Nintendo, which came complete with two controllers and several game cartridges. It might even be fun, Harry thought – but more importantly, in order to make room for the new device, there had been no choice but to move Dudley's 'old computer,' although it was still pristine other than a bit of dust and far from obsolete, into Harry's room.

And that evening, after Dudley's birthday festivities had drawn to a close, Harry connected the computer up, setting it up on the floor because he had no desk, and turned it on.

The machine was confusing, and it was frustrating. It came with an owner's manual, and Harry needed to consult it constantly at first, just to do simple things. But after a few days, he had figured out DOS, and he knew what he wanted to use the computer for. So he took the bus to the electronics store in Woking and purchased a C compiler made by Borland, called Turbo C 1.0, as well as a reference book. It was the most money he had ever spent in his life, and he was glad that he'd been saving the money people in the neighborhood gave him for fixing their lawnmowers and radios for years, because otherwise he wouldn't have been able to afford it. To think, he'd almost spent the money on _new_ _clothes_! Within a few weeks he had already begun to make a computer game of his own.

Line by tedious line of code, he sketched out a text-based adventure game. Oh, it was poorly designed, being designed by an eight year old, but it worked, and it brought him endless satisfaction to tinker and toil all through the summer, fleshing out his little world, finding and squashing bugs. It was a simple game: you could type "east" to move east, and "west" to move west, and so on, and then a description of where you were would appear on the screen. And you could type in things like "attack deer" to do what you would expect that to do. And you would collect coins and trinkets and sell them back in town, and buy new equipment, and gain levels. And that was really about it – it was not complicated. Somehow he found it endlessly amusing anyway.

It became considerably more amusing when he went back to the start, and created a "Version 2", this time with an actual story-line. A simple story, mind you, composed primarily of tropes and generics – an adventurous hero, a damsel, an evil warlock, his orcish henchorcs, the mysterious tower, the labyrinthine catacomb, the rugged mountain pass, the city of gnomes, strange creatures detailed as well as he possibly could with textual descriptions, wonderful scenic vistas in the form of an eight-year-old's written description, items of great power and terrible names like the fabled _Sword of Sorrow_ , and on and on and on he built and built and built a whole world.

"But it hasn't got any graphics," Dudley pointed out on one of the rare occasions that he voluntarily entered Harry's room just for company.

"No, it hasn't," Harry responded, not seeing any problem with that.

Dudley gave him a strange look. He said, "Well I wouldn't want to play a game without any graphics. Do you want to play Mario?"

Harry found Mario to be extraordinarily tedious. You jump about, sometimes landing on little mushrooms, or collecting coins. And you moved from left to right. That was really all there was going on; he couldn't understand how anyone would want to play it for more than a few minutes at a time. In his game, to do the same thing, you could just type "east east east east jump east east east east jump," and accomplish the same thing, except it would be utterly pointless. Yet Dudley was enraptured for weeks at a time doing exactly this.

Harry observed that indeed, it was all down to the graphics. Just by putting some pixels on the screen, and having a controller to move them around, Harry's "east east east jump" was somehow transformed into the addictive action-packed experience that Dudley perceived it as.

"I suppose I'll add graphics in," Harry said after watching Dudley, glaze-eyed, enthralled, move east and jump sometimes for over half an hour.

Harry returned to his room and sat down on the floor in front of his computer ponderously for several minutes. He had absolutely no idea how to render images on the screen.

The next two years were spent developing a new piece of software that he called BitHeap. The name was due to the file format it output, which was a multi-layered bitmap, which would be ideal for the purposes of computer games development, where compression was not desirable.

"Uncle Vernon," he said one evening over dinner during a lull in his relatives' conversation. It was midsummer, 1990. It was rare for Harry to partake in the dinner chat, and even rarer for him to initiate a conversation, so all eyes were on him as soon as he spoke up, and he adjusted his new glasses nervously. "Ah," he hesitated momentarily. "Well, that is, Uncle Vernon, you're aware that I've been tinkering a bit with Dudley's old computer?"

His uncle laughed gruffly. Harry was glad that he had decided to bring this up on an evening where his uncle was already several glasses of sherry in by supper time. "That seems to be all you've been doing for the last two years, boy. Yes, I've noticed!"

"Well, I'm not sure if you're aware or not, but I've taken a bit of an interest in computer programming, and actually I've created a computer program that I think is rather good."

Harry's uncle nibbled thoughtfully on a chicken bone, staring pensively at his orphaned nephew. "So?" he finally said.

"So, well, that is, ah..."

"Spit it out, Harry."

"Right. Well, I think it could be sold. The program that is. In fact, I think it might be worth a good amount of money."

His uncle was suddenly in a bit of a coughing fit. His aunt tittered. "Oh, I hardly think," she said. "I hardly think a ten-year-old boy could have made a program like that."

"It's true," Dudley said. Everyone around the table was taken aback by his interjection. Usually he would have been so engrossed in his ingestion that he would hardly have been aware of the conversation around him, yet it was clear he was keenly interested in this. "I mean, I've seen his program. I think … I think it could be very useful to a lot of people."

"Let's have a look after supper, then," Vernon said.

And, after they ate, the whole family piled into Harry's bedroom in front of his computer, still sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, and he demonstrated BitHeap to them.

"I don't like the name," was his aunt's first impression, before the program was even loaded up.

But quickly they changed their opinions as Harry proceeded to demonstrate the application. "You see, I wanted just a simple thing to make graphics for the game I had been working on, but I found myself having more fun making this than I had been having with that game. So I just kept piling on more and more features, and optimizing it, and things. And now what I've got, I think, is probably the best program of its kind."

"I think we can do something with this," his uncle said. "I have a contact at work, let me look into it."

It turned out that Vernon's contact from work was the very same IBM representative who had initially sold them a hundred or so personal computers two years before. Vernon was able to arrange a meeting with him, since he was again in London.

"It's marvelous," the IBM salesman, Patrick Hamilton, told them as they crowded around a personal computer in IBM's London offices. Harry sat at the chair, demonstrating the program to Mr. Hamilton, and his uncle stood behind them both, seemingly equally nervous and eager.

"Show Patrick the transparency thing, Harry," Vernon instructed.

"So, one of the features of the BitHeap file format is that it supports transparency masks. You can create one bitmap layer, and set portions of it as transparent, and then seamlessly put it on top of another layer, like this – and in your software, for your game or whatever it might be, you don't have to worry about mucking about with deleting all magenta pixels, or anything like that. Which makes it much easier to deploy."

"Marvelous," Mr. Hamilton said again. "Simply marvelous. I can't believe a ten-year-old has developed this."

"I started working on it when I was eight," Harry said. "So it's taken a lot of work. There was a lot I needed to learn as I went."

"This program is actually just the thing for IBM," Mr. Hamilton disclosed. "You see, Adobe has recently come out with a similar application, although I wonder if it's quite as good. The trouble is that Adobe's application only works for Apple computers. It was starting to look like Adobe and Apple might take a stranglehold on the computer graphics sector, since our PCs don't have any comparable software. But this, this could change that. Here's an even better software application, and it's running on better hardware, on a better operating system, namely _our_ operating system … with this, maybe we can reposition ourselves. It will be like this: yes, Apple and Adobe have a nice application, but if you want real, professional work, you're going to need real, professional software on a real, professional personal computer system by IBM."

"Then it seems the only thing left is to talk figures," Vernon said.

"I'm just a senior sales rep," Mr. Hamilton said. "I can't make any decisions. But look, I'll arrange for you folks to speak to the people in charge in New York."

Harry grinned at his uncle. "We're going to America!"

IBM paid their expenses for business-class seats on the plane, and for a nice but not over-the-top hotel. Vernon took a whole week off work, thinking that they might as well make this into an impromptu family vacation. And so they arrived in New York just four days after that meeting with Mr. Hamilton, and they met with some of the most important folks in the tech industry.

But, ultimately, IBM rejected the software. "It doesn't align with the direction of this company. While inarguable it's a very nice program, we just don't see it being part of the OS/2 ecosystem. We do not see OS/2 as an artsy sort of platform."

Harry was crestfallen and defeated, but his uncle was not prepared for defeat. "Did you hear that, boy?" he asked as they rode the elevator back down. "They like it, they just don't think it fits their business strategy."

"IBM bureaucracy got you down?" a fellow elevator-rider asked.

"They just don't know a good product when it's in front of them," Vernon complained. "Here we bring them a groundbreaking new software program, and they say it's great and everything, but it just doesn't fit their corporate strategies."

The man nodded. "That sounds about right. Honestly, I wonder almost every day if it was a mistake to go into business with these guys. They're just so stubborn, and they have their own ideas about every little thing, and even if you give them a perfect product, they'll say they don't like how your code looks, and tell you to fix it up. It already works – how can I fix it!"

The man rubbed his temples and sighed. "Sorry, I can see that you have your own problems without me unloading on you. I'm Bill, by the way."

"Vernon, Vernon Dursley. And this is my nephew, Harry Potter."

"So, Vernon, tell me about this software you've come all the way from England to show these fatcats."

"Well, Harry here designed it, actually. It's an image-editing software with some advanced features that even Adobe's product can't match."

Bill looked Harry over in a manner that seemed, somehow, both shrewd and friendly. "Tell me about those features."

Harry proceeded to outline every feature of his program in extreme detail, going in to how it made use of the 386 processor's advanced memory management, how it dynamically compressed bitmap layers that were not in use in order to be as efficient as possible, and how it allowed for automated gradiation, transparency masks, font smoothing, and dozens of other unique features.

"I have to see it work," Bill said. "Look, let me take you to Washington where my headquarters is, and show me what you showed those IBM guys."

It turned out that Bill had been referring to Washington State, not the city of Washington, so the Dursley family found themselves flying all the way across the United States that very evening – all arranged by Bill. The next morning, Harry and Vernon showed up at Microsoft headquarters and demonstrated their new software. Fortunately, Microsoft had plenty of OS/2 machines lying around for Harry to use for the demo.

"It's too damn bad you made it for OS/2," Bill said eventually. "Still, it won't take long to port it over to Windows. They're _supposed_ to be compatible, after all."

And they struck a deal.

Harry stayed in Redmond, Washington, working side-by-side with the Microsoft people to port his software to their platform, in order to ensure the quickest possible release. Their target wasn't the currently-deployed Windows 2.x, but the still-in-the-oven Windows 3.0 – they hoped to release BitHeap at the same time as the new version of their system. Working shoulder-to-shoulder with such bigshots was a whole new experience for Harry – having them listen to him, and value his creative vision, was beyond what he had ever imagined. But these guys, it seemed, were willing to try new things, and willing to bet their corporation on a ten-year-old from the South English suburbs.

Microsoft, as it turned out, liked the name, and distributed the software as Microsoft BitHeap Image Editer, or simply BitHeap. It was bundled together with a simple sound-editing program, called BitBlast, and a graphical markup application called BitSheet, together called the Microsoft Artist Suite, and it was marketed as a flagship product on par with the Microsoft Office Suite.

Upon the announcement, and again upon the release, of Microsoft Windows 3.0 and the Microsoft Artist suite for Windows, Harry was suddenly extremely famous, not to mention flush with American money. The cover of Byte Magazine the month it was released had a picture of a grinning Harry and Bill and said, "Child Revolutionizes Computer Graphics," and Harry's face and name appeared in countless magazines and newspapers besides.

Harry had chosen to license the software to Microsoft in an agreement that would last for five years. During that time, Harry would be the sole owner of BitHeap, but Microsoft would be the sole distributor. It was an arrangement proposed to him by Bill, who told him, "It would make sense to just offer to buy it outright, Harry, but this is your baby, and you deserve to see it grow up." It worked out very well for all concerned.

And, as anyone watching the markets could see, it was a critical blow for Apple and Adobe, who had only months ago created a market that Harry's software was now poised to dominate.

When Harry finally went back to England, the Dursley family, flushed with tech boom cash, were able to move out of Surrey with that money. Incredibly, the Dursleys even had enough now to live the dream: a proper house right in London. It was a very nice place, and incredibly it even had a proper back yard and everything. It was right on Fitzjohn's Ave, just outside of beautiful Hampstead, and only a few blocks from Swiss Cottage Station. Bill and Ravi Mishra, who was the leader of the Artist Suite design team, even came to the house-warming party – it was Bill's first time in England.

Due to all that he had done for them, the Dursleys had begun to treat Harry as an important family member. When his sister Marge had dared to insult Harry's parents during her first visit to their new house, Uncle Vernon had even asked her to leave, offering to pay for a hotel nearby. He was, above all, a practical man, and he would not let anyone, even his own sister, jeopardize his newly-improved relationship with his nephew. Marge visited them again some three months later, and actually apologized to Harry, although she did not make a big deal about it, and punished her dog when it tried to bite him.

Harry felt a new sense of confidence. Before, people had often said that he was a bit useless. He was so quiet and shy that some assumed he was dimwitted, and he spent most of his time alone in a poorly lit bedroom tinkering on his computer, or with the various toys and gadgets Dudley passed on to him. But now, things were different. Nobody, absolutely nobody, could call him useless. He was practically a national treasure, and the Dursleys knew it, and they made sure that everyone else knew it too. Whereas before, when a guest came over to their house, his aunt might say, "And that's Harry, my sister's son. We've raised him ever since he was a baby, when she and her husband were lost in a tragic accident," in order to elicit sympathy, and make that person think that they were saints – now, things were quite different. Harry's aunt would introduce him as, "And this, this child is my genius nephew, who you may have read about in the newspapers. Harry, come here, this is our neighbor Tabitha Bailey, she's been so eager to meet you." At their new school, even Dudley would brag about him – which, as he was still quite shy, was one of the only ways he would meet new people his age.

Aside from the new scenery, and the new cars, and Petunia's classy new friends, and everything, things soon began to settle down again for the Dusleys, and by the time Dudley's eleventh birthday rolled around, they were all well and truly settled in with their new lifestyle. Marge had come around again – she seemed to come around quite often, now that they lived so well – and, over breakfast, after Dudley had unwrapped his numerous gifts, she said, "So, Vernon, I suppose it's off to Smeltings with them next year?"

"Not for this one," Vernon said, indicating Harry. "He's been offered a spot at Eton. Well, you don't turn down Eton for Smeltings, do you? And as for Dudley, well, we're still not completely sold on Smeltings. There are plenty of very nice institutions right here in in London, so it seems a shame to send him way up north, just for Smeltings."

"But Vernon, isn't it a tradition? I mean, after all, you and Stuart both went there."

Vernon grunted. He never reacted well when Stuart was mentioned – something that Marge seemed to forget every time she visited. "Just because our late brother and I went there, that does not make it a family tradition," he said. "Our father sent us to the best school he could afford, and it just happened to be Smeltings. Perhaps that is the tradition."

Vernon excused himself from the table shortly. "Oh, Marge," Petunia said. "Must you really bring up Stuart?"

"Sorry about that, Pet," Marge said after a big slurp on her coffee. "After all these years, he still can't talk about him."

The boys were curious – they had no idea why Vernon didn't want to talk about his brother. But they knew better than to ask just then. Harry, seeking to return the mood to that of birthday cheer, said, "Actually, I've got a present for you as well, Dudders," and produced a newspaper-wrapped package from somewhere.

Dudley opened it up swiftly. "Wizardry vee-I," he read.

"That's 'six'," Harry corrected.

"Wizardry Six: Bane of the … er … Cosmic Forge."

"I've heard it's the best," Harry said, grinning.

"But Harry, I don't have a computer anymore! I gave it to you, remember?"

"It doesn't matter!" Petunia suddenly shrieked, alarming everybody with her abrupt virulence, which, considering how softly and cajolingly she had just been speaking to her sister-in-law, was especially startling. "You can't possibly play that game!"

Dudley, Harry and Marge were all nonplussed.

"But why, mum?" Dudley said.

"Because ..." Petunia started, then seemed to suddenly get ahold of her emotions. "Ah, well, because, Diddy-dums, as you said, you don't have a computer anymore."

"Oh, well that's only part of the gift!" Harry said gleefully. "I got the idea from an American TV show, see," he felt compelled to explain. "Where somebody gave their daughter a set of keys as a present. And she was like, well what are the keys for? And her father said, 'look outside!' and when she looked outside, there was a new car. Pretty great, right?"

"You got me a car?" Dudley said, baffled.

Harry laughed. "No, but look in the closet," he said, pointing.

In the closet, there was an obviously expensive computer system. "That's the real present, you see. Although, that game is supposed to be great."

"What a …" Dudley struggled to express himself. "What a typical gift from you," he finally settled on. Harry just laughed. He knew better than to expect an over-the-top expression of gratitude from his cousin – and he could tell that Dudley was, in fact, grateful for the gift. He might not be exclaiming 'thank you, thank you Harry!' or anything, but he was grinning. In any case, Harry was happy with this result.

"It's not a big deal," Harry said. "I was just shopping the other day for a new system, and it occurred to me that your birthday was coming up. And then I saw that game, and the whole plan sort of came together."

"Very good!" Vernon announced, appearing in the doorway. "Why, I wouldn't be surprised if soon this family has two computer geniuses."

Dudley laughed the loudest out of everyone.

Dudley's birthday celebration was not an over-the-top affair. A simple trip to the zoo with three of Dudleys friends – Joshua and Kieth from their new school and Piers Polkiss, whose mother had brought him from Surrey – along with Harry, of course, and Marge.

There, something a bit odd occurred. Harry had a conversation with a boa constrictor – a species who, he was quite sure, was not known for human speech. Regardless, when the snake told Harry that it had spent its entire life confined in plexiglass boxes, he told it, "I'm going to get you out of here."

When he got home that evening, Harry gave Bill a call, and together they decided to start a charitable organization called the Harry Potter and Bill Gates Tropical Species Foundation, whose sole mission was to buy up massive amounts of property in the Amazon and other rainforests around the world, to turn them into conservatories for native species, and, if possible, to purchase animals from zoos all over the world and release them back where they belong. The "Pottergates conservancies" would furthermore be protected from deforestation and other threats.

Their charity started with a big injection of their personal cash, but soon others were making charitable donations as well, and they were able to buy up an incredible amount of land, and employ local people as park rangers to watch for illegal poaching, lumbering and farming.

It was a few weeks after that phone call with Bill that one evening after supper, Vernon asked Dudley to go upstairs so that he could have a private word with his nephew.

"Look, Harry," his uncle began unsurely. Petunia was also there – she was silent, though, and her face was ashen. "Well, we had thought of hiding this from you, but you're too damn smart. And, well, these people are damn persistent. We probably couldn't have hidden it for long. So we've decided to tell you the truth."

"What?" Harry said slowly. "What are you talking about, Vernon?"

Vernon cleared his throat. He was still not fully used to his nephew addressing him just by his first name, but what could he do. Anyway, it wasn't important at the moment. "It's about your parents," he said. "And how they died."

Harry blinked rapidly. His aunt and uncle avoided talking about his uncle's dead brother, but more than anything, they avoided talking about his aunt's dead sister, and her husband. "The car crash, you mean?"

"They did not die in a car crash, Harry," his uncle said.

Something weird happened in Harry's mind – it seemed to go blank, and suddenly his aunt and uncle, right across the small table from him, began to look very far way, and getting further and further away by the second, and when he spoke his own voice had a strange metallic, echoing quality – "What do you mean?" he said.

"Show him the letter, Vernon!" Petunia said.

"All right." Vernon produced a letter from his coat pocket and handed it over to Harry. It was made of very thick paper – parchment? And written on the front, in dark green ink, was:

 _Mr. Harry Potter_

 _Second room on the right upstairs_

 _13 Fitzjohn's Avenue_

 _London_

"What is this?" he said, perplexed. Who would write an address that said which bedroom it was meant for?

"Just read it," his uncle said.

Harry flipped it over, and noted that the wax seal was already broken, presumably by his aunt and uncle. Inside he found several sheets of the thick paper. The top one read,

 _ _HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY__

 _ _Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE__

 _ _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)__

 _ _Dear Mr. Potter,__

 _ _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.__

 _ _Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.__

 _ _Yours sincerely,__

 _ _Minerva McGonagall,__

 _ _Deputy Headmistress__

"Is this a –" Harry began, but a look at his aunt and uncle's faces told him plainly that it was no joke. "What does this mean?"

"It means what it says!" Petunia screamed – and then hushedly, hurriedly continued, "You are a witch!"

"I'm a witch?" Harry repeated, dumbfounded.

"Just like Lily was, a witch, a magic-doer, a logic turn-arounder!"

"Hold on," Harry said. "My mum was a witch, and so am I? I don't follow – magic isn't real. 'Wizardry' isn't even a real word. It's just in that game!"

"It is a real word, and magic is real," Petunia said. "And it's terrible."

"Pet, dear, let me, please," Vernon said, stroking his bristly mustache. He wanted this conversation to continue in a less emotionally charged way. Vernon took a sip of his beverage, then he said, "Listen, Harry, it is very real, and there is a reason why your aunt hates it. You see, it's just like I said before. It all has to do with how your parents died."

"Right –" Harry said, amazed that he had allowed himself to be sidelined away from that topic. Surely, there was nothing more important, even this. "What were you saying before?"

"Lily – Petunia's sister – your mother, that is, as well as her husband James, were both killed by this _magic_ business. They were only twenty-one years old. That's why Petunia – that's why we _both_ dislike magic, and why we tried to raise you as a normal kid rather than one of these freaky people. But, well, it's genetic, you see. So really there was nothing we could do to prevent you from growing up to be a witch. But whether or not you go to this school – that is still your choice."

"Tell me how they died," Harry demanded. "I need to know."

"Look at this," Vernon said, producing a folded up piece of the same paper and handing it over to Harry.

 _Dear Mrs. Petunia Dursley,_

 _ _It is with great sadness that I must inform you of the passing of your sister Lily along with her husband James late Halloween night. Lily and James Potter were murdered in their home at Godric's Hollow, Wales, by a terrorist known as the Dark Lord Voldemort.__

"Murdered!" Harry erupted.

"Read the whole thing first, boy," his uncle instructed.

 _ _This Voldemort has been for the last decade culpable of countless tragedies all over the country. Your sister, along with her husband, were among those few left who stood against him, and they will always be remembered as heroic martyrs by our people, especially due to the peculiar and unprecedented circumstances of that night.__

 _ _You see, after Voldemort had killed James and then Lily, he turned his wand against young Harry, and something truly miraculous occurred – the spell that Voldemort used was reflected back upon himself, and Voldemort was vanquished. I bid you please to ensure that Harry has a quiet and normal childhood with you in the muggle world, for when he returns into the fold of the wizarding world he will doubtlessly be treated as a hero beyond compare.__

 _ _You absolutely must keep Harry and raise him, for there are protective magicks at work which will ensure the safety of both this boy and your family as long as he remains with you. I fear that both Harry and yourself will be vulnerable to attacks of revenge if these magicks are not reinforced.__

 _ _Regretfully yours,__

 _ _Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore__

"The same Dumbledore?" was Harry's first response after he had finished reading the whole letter.

"That man is no simple schoolteacher, Harry," his uncle said. "It seems that he led some sort of army against this Dark Voldy-individual. An army that your parents were part of."

"I just ..." Harry began, not knowing where to go from there. "I just don't believe a word of it. _Magic_?"

"But it's all true!" Petunia said. "It's true."

"Look, boy, don't you remember that time when your aunt gave you that terrible haircut, and all your hair just grew right back straight away?"

Harry searched his memory. "I guess. Vaguely. But that's not magic, surely?"

"How else can you explain it?"

Harry couldn't. "But there must be some explanation," he tried.

"I've just told you the explanation!" Petunia said. "You. Are. A. Witch!"

Suddenly there was a bang in the hallway and everyone's attention was drawn to the noise. Vernon and Harry got up and found Dudley in the hall. Vernon sighed. "You might as well come in," he said.

"What do you mean he's a witch?" Dudley asked his mother. "Witches are girls!"

Everyone paused. Harry blinked a few times in shock, then started laughing – and then, for some reason, he started crying too, while still laughing.

It took several minutes for him to regain his self-control. When he finally did, he said to his cousin, "Really, that's your biggest problem with this whole thing?"

"I think there is some other word for a male witch. I don't know," Petunia said. "It doesn't matter."

"Seriously though, Dudley. You just found out that magic is real. And that's your response?"

"Well, I've always known you were weird," Dudley said. "This is just another way you're weird."

Despite having just called him weird twice, Dudley's comment somehow made the whole situation seem less weird. Dudley was right, after all – this was just another thing to deal with. Just another aspect of his already complicated identity – just another thing to file away. Suddenly he was able to look at this whole thing more pragmatically. "This Hogwarts school, is it any good?" he said. "I mean, I have a ticket to Eton."

"I don't really know," Vernon said, looking to his wife.

"It's the best in the country," she said. "For what it is."

"Do they have normal subjects there, too, or just magic?"

Petunia shrugged. "I never really asked about that," she realized. "I don't know."

"I need to know more about this school," Harry decided. "Like, where can I even buy all of these things? Cauldrons? Spell books? A wand? A _toad_?"

"There is a hidden marketplace downtown," Petunia told him in a strained voice. "Not far from Charring Cross."

"That's absurd," Harry pointed out. "Where would they sell cauldrons in downtown London?"

"I told you, it's hidden. Only witches can find the entrance."

Harry thought that over. It sort of made sense, he supposed. It could be some sort of underground facility, with some sort of witches-only security at the entrance.

"Can we go?" Dudley asked eagerly. "I'd like to see this!"

Petunia groaned in apparent pain. "Harry, I don't want you to go to this school," she said.

"I haven't decided to go, Petunia. But I need to see what this is all about for myself."

So, the very next day, they walked down to Swiss Cottage Station and took the underground to Charring Cross, just a few blocks away from which there was a pub which apparently neither Petunia nor Dudley could actually see, although Petunia knew roughly where it was supposed to be. "But it's right here!" Harry exclaimed, pointing at the building. Which was absurd of course, because it was a whole pub that they were apparently unable to see.

"Ah, right, so it is," Petunia said. "Dudley, do you see it?"

"No, mum!"

"Okay, well just take my hand and follow closely. Harry, lead the way please."

A bit confused, Harry did as he was told, and led them into the dark and dingy pub. "It's protected so that normal people can't see it. But if a witch points it out to them, then they can see it, but only as long as they keep their eyes on it – and it sort of makes your eyes feel dry and itchy, so that's hard to do for long. It didn't work on me when I was Dudley's age, either. I think it's harder for kids to stare at something that makes their eyes feel like that…."

"All right," Harry said. He didn't know what else to say.

"Ah, this might be tricky," Petunia realized. "Since you haven't got a wand yet. Let's see if the barman will let us through."

They walked up to the bar, where the barman took one look at them and said, "Muggleborns, eh? Well, ye did good finding the place. I'll show ye through."

The barman came around and led them through a door through which there was a small, undecorated room which, strangely, had one of its walls made of brick instead of old-style wood slat panels like the rest of the pub.

"Now, who's the young wizard? Or is it both of them?" the barman asked.

"That would be me, I guess," said Harry.

"All right, lad, now there's no trick to this, ye've just got to know which brick to tap. Use this black brick here as a reference, then go three up and two over. Here. Give it a tap with yer wand, and –"

The brick wiggled a bit, then a hole appeared in it, and the hole spread until it formed an archway that was big enough for them all to pass through it. And beyond, there was the most bizarre sight Harry or Dudley had ever beheld, for there were scores of strangely dressed people milling about and doing errands, errands which consisted of buying the most peculiar things from the strangest sorts of shops.

"Ah, I love this part," the barman said, grinning. "It's always a joy to see them get their first sight of it. But it looks like ye've been here before, is that right madam?"

"Yes," Petunia said shortly. "My sister was one. A witch, that is."

"I see, I see! And now yer son is. Wonderful, wonderful. My name is Tom, by the way, and I'm always here at the bar in case ye ever need advice – or would just like a chat," he added with a wink, and then he made his way back into his pub before Harry's aunt could formulate a response.

"The nerve of him!" Petunia said.

They made their way along the alley, stopping occasionally for the boys to gawk at something particularly unbelievable, until they came to a rather out-of-place looking white marble building, neither Roman nor Greek in design _per se_ , but definitely classical. "What is this place?" Harry asked.

"The bank," Petunia said shortly. Then she sighed and elaborated: "The bank is run by goblins. Horrible, horrible creatures. Pointed little teeth – smell like low tide – and they're mean. But they are the bank. So you must always be polite, even if they are rude. If they ever decide to deny you service, that's a huge problem. How much cash did you take out, Harry?"

"Two thousand pounds," he said.

"That should cover a few books and things," Petunia said thoughtfully.

"Excuse me?" Harry exclaimed.

"Oh – well that's the other thing about the goblins. They hate the financial system in the normal world. They consider it terribly unstable. They're not entirely wrong, to be honest. But well, to them 'inflation' is a dirty word, and as our normal money is constantly inflating, it's not that different from funny money in the eyes of the goblins – and most witches. So when we go in there, we're basically asking for them to convert Monopoly money into gold. And they will, because they are legally mandated to. However, those laws stipulate that they can do the conversion not against current exchange rates, but against forecasted exchange rates, specifically the rate that they expect in 2025, which is when the treaty between the witches and the goblins expires. That way, in theory, they won't lose any money on the conversions."

"I see," Harry said slowly. "That actually kind of makes sense," he allowed.

"Hardly!" Petunia balked. "But that's the agreement they have with the witchy government. Lily researched all of this constantly and subjected the whole family to ever more intricately detailed rants about it every year – it made her feel better about throwing away so much of our parents' money, ranting about it all the time. Our parents took out student loans for the actual tuition and board, but it didn't cover the supplies, you see. So I know more about this financial corruption than I would like. But the moral of the story is that the goblins give normal families a completely crooked deal, and the government tacitly endorses the whole thing. You know, it's not as if the goblins are just going to sit on that money until 2025 – they're going to turn around and invest it in non-magical businesses, and by the time 2025 rolls around they'll have made a mint."

In the end, they came out of the bank with forty-two gold galleons and some change and a red-in-the-face Petunia.

"Infuriating!" she kept repeating under her breath. "Absolutely outrageous!"

"Ah – Petunia?" Harry tried. "Where can we get some information?"

Harry's aunt cleared her throat and straightened her clothes, composing herself for the most part, although her face was still quite pink. "There is only one bookstore here that I know of," she said, and proceeded to lead them to it.

The bookstore was a massive shop, clearly one of the biggest in the whole shopping center. At its center was a small building which seemed to have gradually acquired and grown into several of its neighbors, and as each wall was knocked down they maintained the facade of the old shop that had been there, so that the outwards appearance of the place was a discordant jumble.

"Interesting place," Harry remarked as they entered.

But the threshold, it seemed, was where the chaos really began. For a bookstore, it was absurdly noisy. In the back of the shop there was a small café where people sat smoking, drinking and generally making quite a lot of noise and smells, and near to that was a shop-within-a-shop that sold stationary items like paper and ink. There were tons of customers, many of whom were inappropriately raucous for being in a bookstore, as well as a few wizards apparently trying to market their own books to the customers, yelling at passersby that their book could help get that nasty stain out of their shirts. There was also one man delivering what seemed to be a political speech having something to do with dragon breeding, and a boy belting out the headlines of the newspaper, trying to make a sale. Amidst the chaos, it was hard to believe that the place was a bookshop at all – except for all of the books. There were a lot of books. Shelves upon shelves, sometimes so close together it was hard to see how anyone could even get between them, sometimes cutting each other off and intersecting, as though fighting each other for space, and where there weren't any shelves there were often books stacked haphazardly on the ground.

Harry could see why this shop was so popular, and he could see why his aunt did not like the place. "Let's not dawdle here too long," Petunia said. "I hate this … _shop_." Harry could see where she was coming from. Although he liked the place, it was undeniably a sensory overload in the extreme.

"What are we looking for?" an attendant said, appearing out of nowhere. He was very tall, ginger-bearded, and dressed in a teal robe and pointed hat with a fluffy feather in it.

"A book about Hogwarts, and other schools," Harry said.

"Muggleborns, are we?" the young man said knowingly. "Well, I've got just the thing right over here, if you'll follow me."

The book he showed them was called __The Ultimate Survival Guide to the Wizarding World for Muggleborns by Muggleborns__ _._ "This might be useful," Harry said with a quirked eyebrow. "But this isn't what I was looking for."

"Oh, trust me, trust me, lad," the attendant said. "I'm a muggleborn myself, believe it or not!" – and Harry did not – "But with the help of this little book, why, just look at me today. I'm a complete native. You know, I've actually forgotten the rules of football? I highly recommend this book!"

"Oh. Well, er –" Harry didn't know what to say to that. A book that helps one forget things? What? "The thing is, I'm not entirely sure if I want to go to Hogwarts or not."

"Oh, lad, oh-ho-ho, oh lad!" the enthusiastic young man said.

"Yes?"

"If you've been accepted at Hogwarts, you must go. You simply must. It is the finest school in Britain – _nay_ , dare I say? – the world. Why, if I had gone to Hogwarts," he added wistfully, "I would not be working here today, I can assure you!"

The attendant, laughing merrily, patted Harry on the shoulder and wandered off to help another customer.

"That was weird," Dudley observed.

Harry nodded fervently. He cracked open the book, and skipped past the introduction.

 _ _1.__ , the book's first chapter began,

 _ _The first thing you need to know is that you need to forget everything you know__ _,_ the book told him. __Everything. "But what about all of the useful things I know?" you might ask. To which I say, you know nothing useful, and you know a lot of things that will only get in your way. So throw it all out!__

"This book is pretty rude," Harry said, snapping it shut and replacing it on the shelf.

"Here we are," Petunia said, pulling a thick book off the shelf. "I guess he led us to the right area after all."

 _ _A Tour of Magical Education in Europe and the Colonies__ , the book's title read.

"Let's just purchase it and be on our way – good lord!" Petunia said. "Look at that!"

The price tag read _2G 16S 28K_. "Pricey," Harry agreed. "Still, though."

"We hardly have any choice," Petunia agreed.

They purchased the book and, at Petunia's urging, made haste out of the quirky shopping district known as Diagon Alley. Since Dudley was hungry again by then, they went into a fish-and-chips shop down the road. The greasy food wasn't exactly ideal for brand new books, but it was close and it was cheap.

"According to this," Harry said, "Hogwarts was the best school in Europe but recently it's been on the decline. Mind you, it doesn't actually _say_ that. While a French school is now widely regarded as the best in Europe."

"Hmn," Petunia said, uninterested.

"Furthermore, Hogwarts tuition has been skyrocketing, driving poor families and muggleborn students to seek their educations elsewhere. There are government-run schools."

"I see," she said.

"I don't know if I want to leave Britain though. I barely speak any French. And I don't want to go to a _public_ school. That's just distasteful."

"That's up to you."

Harry scrunched his face. It was, indeed, quite clear that she had reached her limit and was no longer willing to talk about magical things for a while. Harry deliberated on this fact and decided not to notice it. "Although the book is called a _Tour of Europe and the Colonies_ , it doesn't say anything about American schools," he lamented. "It only briefly mentions Australian schools, and it's just a summary. It's really focused on Hogwarts and the schools in Europe."

"False advertising really is terrible," Harry's aunt said with almost physically palpable disinterest, now staring at the traffic out the window.

"Excuse me," someone said. Harry looked up. Standing above him, staring not at him but at his book – which, as it had an animated picture open for anyone to see, he snapped shut and put away – was a girl his age. "Excuse me, but did I hear you say Hogwarts a bit ago?"

"Possibly," Harry said cagily, making sure his book was now out of sight.

"What of it?" Petunia snapped at the girl.

"Oh – well –"

She was clearly quite taken aback by Harry's caginess and his aunt's open hostility.

"Hm?" Harry prodded. The girl's parents were now walking over.

"Well, it's just, I'm off to Hogwarts this September."

"Please excuse her," the girl's mother said sheepishly. "She really can't contain herself sometimes."

"I'm Tobias Granger, my lovely wife Elizabeth, and our chipper daughter Hermione," the man said.

"I see," Petunia said.

Harry, now feeling a smidge embarrassed by his aunt's recalcitrance, intervened. "Oh, well, nice to meet you. Sorry about that. We're not used to the whole idea yet, you see. I'm Harry Potter, and this is my aunt Petunia Dursley and my cousin Dudley."

"Harry Potter?" the girl said. She scrunched up her eyes as if to get a better look. "Surely, not _the_ Harry Potter, of Microsoft?"

Harry coughed. He went to a very nice school where people were generally quite polite about the fact that he was filthy rich and famous. But every now and then someone would react like this – while it was a bit uncomfortable for people to always know him before he knew them, he was starting to get used to the idea. "Afraid so," he said faux-apologetically.

"You're a __wizard__?" she exclaimed.

"Hermione, dear, not so loud," her mother reminded her.

"Of course, sorry mum – I'm just so surprised!"

"Well, to be honest, it came as quite a surprise to me as well. See, I only found out about all of this yesterday evening."

" _Really_! Well, why weren't you on the tour?" Hermione asked.

"Tour?" Of course, that made sense. There must be some sort of introduction to all of this for newcomers. And, of course, as a legacy (technically), he wouldn't be invited to that sort of thing, since he wasn't expected to need it. "Oh, well, I opted out," he improvised. "I thought it would be more fun just to sort of check it out myself."

"Don't lie," Dudley said.

Harry sent him a very reproachful look. "Actually," he admitted, "My parents were wizards, but I've only just found out. I suppose the government, or the school or whatever, didn't think that I would need a tour, since I'm a legacy."

"Hermione, we should be going," Elizabeth Granger said with a pained look at Harry's aunt, who was very clearly much displeased with this situation on a number of levels.

"Oh, but mum!"

"Listen," Harry said, "Are you here in London?"

"Croydon," she said.

"Perfect. Ah, let's see." He took out the book again, and wrote his name and phone number on one of the pages, then ripped that part off and passed it to her.

"Isn't that a brand new book?" she exclaimed.

"Oh, yes. Look, here's my phone number, give me a ring sometime and we can chat about this whole thing a bit further."

"I'll definitely call!" she said, beaming.

"Right. Looking forward to it. Well, it was nice meeting you all."

"Let's go, Hermione," her mother said, dragging her away. "Nice meeting you, Mrs. Dursley, Mr. Potter."

"Bye Harry!"

"Am I invisible?" Dudley muttered. Then he shrugged and started eating Harry's chips.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief as the family Granger departed the restaurant.

"Why on earth would you do that?" his aunt demanded.

"Do what?"

"Do you really want that queer girl ringing you any time of the day?"

"Oh, that. Don't worry, Petunia. I'm not completely daft. I put an '8' instead of a '5' for the last digit."

Dudley laughed, the bits of chips that were ejected from his mouth narrowly missing Harry. "You berk!" he said. "You'll break her heart!"

Ignoring the potato debris, Harry explained, "This way, if by some weird chain of events I end up going to school with her, and we're friends, I can always just say, 'oh, how daft of me! I messed up my own phone number!' and it will be fine. On the other hand, if I don't go to school with her, or if we're not friends, then I can forget all about this episode."

"You know," his aunt said, looking at him with a keen eye and a touch of a smirk, "you're pretty clever about other things, besides computers."

Now that he knew where the entrance to the magical world was, Harry could go there by himself any time he liked, and did so on several occasions throughout July. He purchased a wand for himself so that he wouldn't need to keep asking the barman at the pub to let him through. He even bought a book on basic charms and, taking it to the nice little park in the wizarding district, tried a couple of them out. It was really quite marvelous to make a leaf hover, and even dance around; it filled him with a sense of wonder on par with or even above that of finally getting the last bug out of a program and seeing it run flawlessly.

He was, in short, hooked.

It was plain to see that he would not be able to simply ignore this aspect of himself – he would definitely be studying magic. But Hogwarts? Although it was a very well-regarded school by all – or at least most – accounts, it wasn't Eton.

Still, did he really want to be an Etonian? The old-fashioned tailcoats, the aristocratic drama, the strict regulations – all of that aspect of Britain's finest school for boys put him off. Hogwarts, too, catered to the rich, but it also had scholarship programs for poor students, and was, based on the information he had gathered from the alumni that lived and worked in Diagon, a very, very fun school, in addition to being academically demanding.

They each had their pros and their cons, and he wavered indecisively between them for two weeks following the arrival of that emerald-inked envelope.

Finally, at dinnertime on the sixteenth of July, he announced his decision to his relatives. "I've decided to attend that wizardry school," he told them abruptly during a lull in the conversation.

"Of course you have," his aunt said with a sigh, seemingly having long since admitted defeat in this argument.

"You knew?" Harry asked; he was honestly surprised, since he had only himself made his final decision hours before.

"You are my sister's son," she said, her tone bittersweet.

"I wish I could go too," Dudley pouted. "I'm jealous."

"Don't be jealous, dear," his mother said. "Magic isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"You keep saying things like that, Petunia, but magic really is amazing," Harry said. "I can make things hover and do what I say … and I'll be able to transfigure things, that means change their shape … not to mention the medical potions – they have a cure for cancer, you know?"

"I know about the cure for cancer," Petunia said. "Lily told me about it so many times. The wizards had cured cancer back before normal people even knew what it was. But look at what those wizards do with their cure for cancer – they hoard it for themselves, wrap it up in their Statute of Secrecy, along with all of their other miracles."

"But they _must_!" Harry objected. "The witches can't be opening up cancer clinics."

"I know," Petunia said. "But you know, every now and again the witches do interact with normal people – by playing wicked tricks on them, or just slaughtering them. Their secrecy never stopped them from hurting us."

A chill ran up Harry's spine. It was true, and he could not deny it, nor was he prepared to stand up for a society of which he was still just a tourist. He had read a little bit of their history, and so he knew that the witches had gone into seclusion long ago because they were afraid of the muggles, but every few decades some witches would emerge from that shroud of secrecy like a pack of wolves from the dark.

There was a silence. Dudley and Vernon exchanged wide-eyed looks, then turned back to their plates. They did not want to get in the middle of this exchange.

"They killed your grandparents," Petunia finally said after two minutes or so of silence. Harry dropped his fork in surprise. "My parents, I mean. Before they killed Lily and her husband, they killed my parents. Those dark witches, during their civil war."

"Voldemort," Harry said, remembering the name from Dumbledore's letter.

His aunt nodded slowly, but she said, "Not just him. He had his own little army, you know. They had some disgusting name for themselves – the Death Eaters, I think. And those people, they saw us muggles as nothing but vermin to be eradicated. Worse than vermin, since they live in hiding from us, when usually vermin would be the ones hiding. They killed thousands of people. They collapsed bridges and blew up clocktowers and things, and then they would sometimes just massacre a whole village somewhere. All for no reason other than hate."

"They aren't all like that," Harry said weakly, thinking about some of the nice, if odd, people he had talked to in Diagon Alley.

"They don't have to all be like that," Petunia said. "Only a hundred or so of them caused so much damage. You know, their favorite targets were the families of muggleborns. That's why they killed my parents – just to get to Lily.

"I'm not trying to change your mind," she continued. "I know that I can't change your mind. Your brain works a lot like Lily's did. But I just want you to be careful, Harry. I know that I've not always been the nicest person to you -"

"No, Petunia, don't -"

"It's true, and you know it. When you first showed up on our doorstep … But you've grown on me. And I want you to be safe. I want you to be careful out there, and to always keep in mind that these witches are dangerous, unpredictable people."

Harry felt like he might cry. For his aunt, 'you've grown on me,' was about as close as it would ever get to 'I love you,' and he knew that that was what she meant. But Harry didn't cry – he nodded, and he said, "I will be careful."

His aunt nodded primly, and began clearing the table.

"I don't think I'm jealous anymore," Dudley said later that evening. They were sitting on the floor in Harry's bedroom. The room was lit only by a small lamp and two computer monitors. Harry, having grown accustomed to sitting on the floor over the past few years, had eschewed desks and set up his computers on the floor again in this house. Besides his bed, the only furniture he had were several book cases and a tall dresser. His aunt thought it was perfectly ridiculous, but that was how he was comfortable, and it made the room seem bigger, which was nice. "That school of yours … do they have telephones there?"

"I'm sure they have telephones," Harry answered. "I'm not going back in time or anything."

"Right – dumb question," Dudley said laughing. "Well, give us a ring every now and again. Just so I know you haven't been murdered or something."

Harry laughed. "I will, I will."

"So, how's Version Three coming along?" Dudley asked, referring to Harry's new game, which he had finally started working on after two years of his other project taking up all his time.

Harry grinned, thankful for his cousin's change to a happier topic, and started listing all of the features he was planning to put into his game. "Right now it's not much," he said. "You can just sort of walk around and swing your sword. But I have everything planned out already. It's going to be groundbreaking, revolutionary. It's going to blow your mind. You'll need a mop for this game – to clean up all the brains that are exploding," he added to help his cousin.

"Brilliant."

Harry went again to Diagon the next morning. "A galleon thirteen. That works out to over sixty pounds! Why are these books so damn expensive?" he muttered to himself as he found himself once again drawn to that bookstore.

"So true," the same teal-clad attendant said, appearing behind Harry and causing him to jump in shock. This early in the morning, the bookstore did not yet have the boisterous atmosphere that it did in the afternoons. A few early risers had come to read a newspaper in the little café area, but other than that it was almost devoid of customers. So it really shouldn't have surprised Harry that he soon got the attention of that overeager employee.

"You again!" he said. "Er – that is, I mean – hello again."

"Oswald," the attendant said, bowing. "Oswald Fitzgerald-Fitzpatrick."

"Lovely," Harry said as he struggled to see what about his previous 'greeting' had implied that he wanted to know the man's name. "Oh, and I'm Harry, and I didn't mean for anyone to hear that. It's not that expensive."

"Oh, I know who you are, Mr. Potter," the attendant said, then pointed at his own forehead. "Don't worry – I'm very discrete."

Harry took in the man's appearance afresh. Teal robes, teal hat with poofy purple feather out from which spilled an orange waterfall of hair, and purple boots with expensive-looking silver clasps. "Right," he said skeptically. "You seem discrete. How did you know who I am?"

"The scar?" the attendant asked, taking on the affectation of one trying to speak English to a simple-minded foreigner. "You know, that scar there."

"Ah, right." Harry rarely thought about his scar, but he had read that it was the result of Voldemort's attack, and so of course it was widely known. "Of course. Silly me."

"Oh-ho-ho! Fret not, it's early in the morning! I'm an early bird myself, but I'm quite understanding of folks who are not. Yes, it seems many folks are only half-awake at this early hour," Oswald Fitzgerald-Fitzpatrick revealed, as if it were something that he alone had observed. "And, fret further not, about your remark – for it's true! Things in this world are very expensive – or they can be, if you are trying to use muggle currency to pay for things. Why, those goblins …! Oh, but perhaps I shouldn't say it in the workplace. But Mr. Potter, I must inquire, whyever would you of all people pay for things with muggle currency?"

Now Harry was about at his limit for feeling foolish while talking to this absurd person, but, exasperated though he was, he knew that he was about to be made a fool of once again when he said, "What do you mean by that?"

"What do I mean?" Oswald Fitzgerald-Fitzpatrick said, apparently shocked. "What do I mean, what do I mean, whatever could I possibly mean – why! I should think it's rather obvious, even at this early hour, just what I mean."

Harry, by now thoroughly despising this person, grit his teeth and said, "Pretend that you're speaking to a complete moron."

"Oh-ho-ho! You're really too much, Mr. Potter!" Oswald Fitzgerald-Fitzpatrick said. "Too much, too much for my thin blood. Are you serious?"

"I am."

"Truly?"

"Yes, I am truly serious," Harry said very slowly, trying to keep his tone measured.

Seemingly oblivious to the massive irritation he was causing, Oswald Fitzgerald-Fitzpatrick finally explained. "Oh-ho-ho, oh-ho-ho! Indeed, pretend I'm speaking to a moron. Right away, Mr. Potter, right away. I shall pretend that you are a complete simpleton presently! I was referring, of course, to your family fortune!"

"My family fortune," Harry echoed.

"Being one of the great and ancient families, the House of Potter naturally have a great and ancient pile of gold," Oswald Fitzgerald-Fitzpatrick explained, speaking slowly for Harry's benefit. "Unless I am very much mistaken – and oh-ho-ho! I so rarely am! – there should be a rather large sum sitting some two hundred meters below the surface of Gringotts in one of their most great and ancient vaults!"

"I see. Thank you." Harry replaced the book on the shelf and left the shop, heading to the bank.

The bank, too, was quite empty at this hour. Harry was beginning to think that witches were perhaps a bit prone to lying in – it was already almost nine in the morning, and yet nobody was about. Perhaps they all stayed up late brewing potions under the moonlight, or something witchy like that. "Good morning," he said to the nearest teller.

The goblin glanced up at him briefly, said "Please wait," and proceeded to continue reading the parchment in front of him, making the occasional tick mark or jotting down a sum. Finally, about two minutes later, the goblin looked up again and said, "Yes?"

"I'm here to make a withdrawal," Harry said. "But I don't know my account number."

The goblin scrunched its face in obvious irritation but said, "No problem. Name?"

"Harry Potter."

"Residence?"

"13 Fitzjohn's Ave, London. The first bedroom on the right on the first storey," he added, remembering the Hogwarts letter.

"I see," the goblin said, then walked away and through a door behind him. Harry stood there awkwardly, peering over the counter at the door, waiting for the next ten minutes before the goblin returned. "This way," the goblin said.

The goblin walked behind him, as if to keep him in sight at all times, and ushered him through the same door and down a long, strangely curving hallway to a door with a placard that said "Account Reclamation Dept," along with some strange writing presumably in the goblin language.

The goblin rapt on the door in a specific and intricate pattern, then told Harry, "Wait here," and left.

After waiting there for another twenty minutes or so, during which Harry first wished that there was a chair and then started eyeing the marble floor and evaluating how much posterior comfort it might offer, he heard a scratchy voice call, "Enter!"

He entered the room and found, to his surprise, that there was a human being sitting behind the goblin-sized desk inside.

"Potter?" the man said curtly, referencing a long scroll. "Sit."

"Thank you," Harry said unsurely, sitting.

"Let me see," the man said. Harry noted that the banker, or accountant, or whatever the man was, had still at no point actually looked at Harry. "Let me see," he said again, then was silent for quite a while as he looked over what were presumably the details of Harry's accounts. He went over every line, of which there were many on the long scroll.

"And you say you have lost your key?" the man asked suddenly, looking at Harry for the first time. Harry noted that the man's brown eyes had a slightly bird-like quality – sharply clever, but at the same time somewhat alien. They made Harry feel strange. Harry wondered if it was the result of working for the goblins for many years.

"Ah – yes, that is correct," he said.

"I find that quite odd, Mr. Potter," the man said pointedly. "Considering that you scheduled a large transfer of gold only sixteen days ago."

"Excuse me?"

"Is something awry? Hm?" the man said, leaning forward just slightly, seemingly intensifying the sharpness of his gaze even further.

"It's just that I never authorized any such transfer," Harry said calmly. "Who has it been transferred to?"

"Whom," the man corrected. Then, ignoring his question, he said, "Let's see your blood, then."

"My blood?" Harry repeated, alarmed.

"A half teaspoon will do," the banker said, producing a rather ornate silver bowl and a matching dagger. "Go on."

"What is this for?"

"I can't do anything at all until I confirm your identity. Go on."

Harry, feeling extremely skeptical and defensive, nonetheless did as he was instructed, taking the knife and making a cut on his palm, dripping the blood into the silver dish. The banker offered Harry a handkerchief and produced his wand, then began casting some spells over Harry's blood. Harry, nursing his cut, watched attentively as the banker worked.

"Fifty percent match with James Potter. You are his son," the banker finally announced. "You will be requiring a new key?"

"Who has my old key?" Harry asked. "Who authorized that transaction, and to _whom_ was the money transferred?"

"The first two questions are unfortunately beyond me. To protect the privacy of our customers, Gringotts Bank does not keep track of such things. Since your identity has been confirmed, I'm now authorized to tell you that the money was transferred to Hogwarts School, on the date of July the first. It appears to be a standard tuition fee."

"But I haven't accepted my invitation to Hogwarts yet," Harry said.

"Hm. Well, whoever has your account's key seems to believe otherwise."

"I want my locks to be changed so that that key will no longer work," Harry stated firmly. "I don't know who has it but they have no right to be dipping into my vault."

"Of course," the banker said. He did not seem scandalized in the slightest by the revelation that someone had been using Harry Potter's money without authorization. He got up and retrieved a form from one of his shelves and began filling it out.

"And you will be wanting a new key?" the banker said after completing the form.

"Yes, I will be wanting a new key for the new lock," Harry said.

"Of course," the man said, and began filling out another form.

After the new form was completed, the man passed Harry a quill and spread the parchments out before him, saying, "Just sign here, here, here, and here. Initial here, here and here. And thumbprint there and there."

"Where is the ink?" Harry said when he got to the thumbprint part. The banker pushed forward the silver dish of blood. "Right, obviously. Why would it be with ink?"

"Indeed," the man said, ignoring Harry's tone. Harry made the signatures, initials and thumbprints in blood, and the man snatched the parchment forms from him, rapidly folded them up, stuck them in an envelope, and sealed the envelope with wax, all in an extremely well-practiced motion.

"Wait outside this office for an attendant," the man said. "They will be with you shortly."

Harry, feeling it was quite rude to be asked to wait outside of the office, had no choice but to comply. After only a few moments, a goblin appeared and instructed Harry to follow further along the hall. Eventually they came to a door whose English label said simply, "Keys," and the goblin told Harry to wait outside.

After a few minutes a voice called for him to enter, and Harry was startled to find that the room was no office, but a forge. A single ancient-looking goblin was inside. "Let me see that," the goblin said, snatching the envelope from Harry's hand.

After looking over the forms, the goblin said, "Let's see your blood."

"Again?" Harry asked, aghast. Who knew that banking could be such bloody work.

"One and one third ounces, if you please," the goblin said. Harry was forced to make another slice in his hand, and let the blood drip into a small golden cup. This time, no handkerchief was provided, and he was left using his already blood-soaked one to staunch the flow, which led to a mess of blood on the floor. Looking around the place, Harry noted that several more blood stains were already present on the floor.

The goblin dropped the golden cup and its bloody contents into the small forge. The cast he had set up seemed to be designed to fashion the lock and key at the same time. In short order, the goblin retrieved the newly minted key from the cast, polished off some of the rough edges, and handed it over to Harry, who was forced to hold it with his bloody handkerchief since it was still extremely hot.

"Er – thank you?" Harry said. This whole experience with goblin banking was quite strange, and he was now feeling rather off-kilter.

"The lock shall be installed within six business days, during which time you will be unable to access its contents," stated the wizened, liver-spotted goblin, "Please wait outside."

Harry was again left to wait outside of the room for a third goblin handler to come and pick him up. The goblin took him back to the front area of the bank. "Will that be all?" the goblin said stiffly, although it was already turning around to do something else.

"Er – yes," Harry said. The goblin was already walking away. Harry left the bank.

"Goblins," he said bitterly as soon as he was far enough away to be sure that none of the creatures could hear him.

Harry wanted to get a book on healing charms to heal his cut up hand, but he could hardly go into a bookstore and handle new books with bloody hands. So he settled for going to a potion shop and buying an ointment to cure the wounds. It was rather expensive, but it was hardly as though he had any options. The shopkeeper allowed him to use the shop's restroom to clean up.

Now with a new appreciation for the uses of blood in magic, Harry decided to pocket his bloody handkerchief instead of throwing it in a rubbish bin, having a mind towards incinerating it later. Who knew what some ill-meaning person could do with his blood?

Harry thanked the potionsmaker for the use of his water closet and promised to return to the shop soon to buy his school things there, and left the shop.

Standing outside the shop, he looked up and down the street, wondering what to do next. He was very low on galleons, now, but couldn't justify converting more muggle money when he would have access to his bank account the next week. There were several shops that he wanted to investigate further, but he didn't want to be one of those people that just goes into shops, touches everything, and leaves without purchasing anything. And, knowing that there was always the risk that someone would recognize him, like that bookstore employee had done, made him want to be on his way soon. Instead of leaving, however, he thought that a good use of his last few gold coins might be to remedy that problem by purchasing some witchy clothing, so that he would stand out less – and a hat to keep his scar covered up. At least the people in this world only knew what his scar looked like, and not his face, Harry reflected.

There were several clothing shops on the street, so he selected the one that seemed like it might have the cheapest attire.

Looking around at the articles on the racks, he soon realized that every single item was far too big for him. Feeling embarrassed, he asked an attendant where the children's section was.

"Muggleborn?" the woman asked him in what seemed like a purposefully neutral tone.

"Yeah," Harry said, flattening his hair over his forehead. He could hardly explain his particular circumstances to every person he encountered. It was just easier to say that he was a muggleborn.

"In the wizarding world, clothes are not mass-produced in standardized sizes, as they are in the muggle world," the witch lectured authoritatively. "Instead, clothes are made in one large size, then tailored to fit the customer. This way, we can ensure that every article is a perfect fit for every customer."

"I see," Harry said. It seemed rather pointless, since wizards wore such baggy clothes that they hardly needed to be a perfect fit, but he was hardly going to voice this opinion. "Look, can you help me find something that's fashionable but not too expensive?"

"Of course," the witch said, leading him to a particular corner of the shop. "These robes here are all part of the Oddities Collection by Marie Le Pointe. As you can see, the cut of the robes is very trendy, but the fabric is inexpensive. These robes are made specifically for people in your – er – circumstances."

Perhaps, Harry thought, saying that he was a muggleborn was not the best move. It seemed to be almost exactly the same as saying that he was dirt poor and probably couldn't afford anything – these robes were the cheapest in the shop by a good margin. Even so, the fact was that for the moment he _was_ poor, if only because he refused to convert more money with the extortionist goblins. "I'll take one set in royal blue, and a hat," he said, consulting his coin purse.

"Of course," the witch said, and Harry caught her rolling her eyes.

Considering that it took a good fifteen minutes for her to tailor the robes for him, and that the robes were only about half a galleon, Harry supposed that she was actually being rather patient with him. Although that could also be attributed to the fact that he was the only customer in the shop. Harry asked her to keep the change from a galleon for her trouble, they thanked each other, and, wearing his new robes and hat, he left the shop.

Wizarding robes, he quickly realized, had several very nifty features. First and foremost, even his cheap robes had weak heating and cooling charms built in. Nowhere in the muggle world could you find clothes that made you cooler instead of warmer – and on this July day, that was just what the doctor ordered.

Harry made his way to the post office next. They sold parchment and let you use their quills and ink for free, which he thought was pretty good service. He drafted his acceptance letter for Hogwarts and sent it off. After all, it was already paid for, according to the man-who-works-for-goblins, and he had already told his relatives his decision, so it was time to formally submit his intent to attend.

The matter of who had been using his funds was something that he decided to put out of mind for now. He had put an end to it, and Gringotts did not keep records of who had used his key, and were quite cagey about how it had been used, so there was very little he could do to find out who it had been. Besides which, as far as he knew they had only used the money to pay for his school, which was an appropriate, if presumptive, expenditure. He would set the outrage to one side for now.

Wanting to continue to observe the witches without spending any more money, Harry went again to the park at the end of the alley and set about practicing the charms that he knew. Unfortunately he had not brought his book with him, so he was only able to do the same few spells over and over again, but that wasn't a terrible thing as he still had room to improve them.

"You know, I never knew that you were Pakistani," someone said. Harry was suddenly aware of Hermione Granger standing over him.

"What?" he said, perplexed by this off-the-wall conversation starter.

"Well, when I called the number you gave me, the person on the other end hardly spoke a word of English."

"Ah," Harry said, pinking in embarrassment. "I see."

"I'm not upset," Hermione said firmly. "I just would like to know why."

"Well – that is –"

"Why bother giving me a fake number? I didn't even ask for your phone number."

"Now, hang on," he said. This conversation was definitely not going well for him. He needed to recover what remained of his dignity, fast. "I never gave you a fake number."

"020 72899 128," Hermione said, crossing her arms.

"Five," Harry said. "The last digit was a five, not an eight."

Hermione blinked. "It looked like an eight," she said.

"Oh, well, my handwriting is pretty shit," Harry explained. "I've been marked down in school before for it. Sorry."

"That had better be your real number this time," Hermione said. "If it is, then I forgive you."

"Okay," Harry said cautiously. "That's good, then."

"I saw you doing some magic. Let's see it."

"Okay," Harry said again. "Er … Right. __Wingardium Leviosa__!"

The leaf he was pointing his wand at rose up into the air and hovered there. Hermione stared at it. Harry stared at Hermione as she stared at it. This was getting awkward, fast. "Er..." he said.

"That's very good," Hermione decided. "Just look how steady it is. Mine still wobbles about a bit."

"Oh, thank you." Despite the extreme awkwardness he was feeling, it was nice to hear that his wand handiwork – _wandiwork_? – was good. Hermione performed the charm on another leaf and raised it up to the level Harry's leaf was hovering at. Sure enough, it wobbled a bit.

"That's still really good," Harry said. "I've been practicing a lot."

"You know, I've read all about you," she said.

Harry coughed. "You mean that _Byte Magazin_ _e_ article?"

"No, not that. Well, yes, I've seen that too. But no, I meant in __Modern Magical History__."

"Ah," Harry said, recognizing the name of a book that he had flipped through at Flourish and Blott's without buying. "That's a lot of speculation," he said. "They don't even cite their sources."

"I started reading that the day after I bumped into you in that fish and chips place. And I was thinking, well, it's a common enough name. Surely it can't be the same Harry Potter. There must be two Harry Potters that just happen to be the same age. Then I finished the first paragraph. It said you had this funny scar. And I remembered noticing that scar – I see you've got it covered up with a hat now, that's probably smart. And anyway, I thought, _wow_ , it really is him."

Harry didn't know what to say. Fortunately for him, Hermione wasn't done talking.

"So I called you up – or I tried to – and, well. And you know. And you know, I was really quite angry with you, but I thought maybe that's just something famous people have to do – giving out wrong numbers. But I'm glad it was just a mistake."

Harry let his leaf fall to the ground, and Hermione did too. "Sorry again about that," he said, now feeling very guilty for how he'd abused her. "Where are your parents?" he asked suddenly, looking around.

"At work, of course," she said.

"Are you supposed to be here by yourself?" he asked.

"Are you?" she retorted.

"Well, actually, yes. My relatives let me do what I want for the most part."

"Oh," she said, coming up short. "I snuck out, actually."

"Babysitter?" he asked.

"I'm so responsible, my parents don't think I need a babysitter. Normally they would be right. Summer days like this, before I _know_ , I would just sit in the back yard with a book all day. But how could I resist coming back here? They didn't want to come back unless we needed to, so I snuck out!"

"You don't seem like the type," Harry observed.

"Well you, Harry Potter, don't seem like the type to be world-famous in two different worlds!"

Harry nodded, acknowledging the point. Hermione sat down on the lawn next to him. It was a bit of a relief to not have her standing above him anymore, but at the same time he was a bit taken aback by her just joining him like that.

"It's a nice day," she said, apparently not knowing how to proceed with their dialog from there.

"Yes." Harry wracked his brain for something to say, then noticed her backpack. "You have any spellbooks in there?" he asked, gesturing.

She grinned.

Despite thinking that Hermione was a pretty weird girl, and more than a bit presumptuous, Harry had to admit that he had a lot of fun sitting around in that witchy park with her, casting spells on leaves and twigs and pinecones. In fact, he soon found himself letting his guard down with her, speaking to her as though she were a very smart version of Dudley. When she abruptly realized that it was time for her to leave, they even made a plan to meet there again the next Wednesday.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. Hermione called him up the next day and informed him that she had gotten home a bit too late, and her father had gotten off work a bit too early, and, long story short, she would no longer be left alone at the house while they were at work. The Granger parents, it seemed, were keenly aware of the potential dangers of the magical world, and were very uncomfortable with the idea of their little girl wandering around unsupervised in it. Fortunately, Hermione didn't mention that she had met Harry there, so they were not mad at him. To Harry's surprise, he found himself disappointed that they wouldn't be able to see each other again until September. Of course, he realized finally that it would be his birthday the following week, and the Grangers were much too nice to forbid their daughter from attending a friend's birthday party.

This was Harry's first birthday since he had truly earned the appreciation and respect of his relatives. It was the first birthday that they really treated him like he was important to them. So, it was a very good birthday to share with friends, even new ones. He also invited Ravi Mishra, his old team leader at Microsoft, who happened to be in England on business, and he let Dudley invite two of his friends.

The British Museum was every bit as amazing as Harry thought it would be, although now that he was aware of the magical world he couldn't help but wonder what role the magical world had played in the events surrounding all of those ancient relics and pieces of art. Something about the way Hermione looked at the various exhibits gave him the impression that she had similar thoughts going around in her head. He wished that they could sneak away from Ravi and Dudley's friends and talk about it all, but of course that would have been terribly rude, and Harry really wanted to catch up with his friend from Microsoft. They would be attending boarding school together, so naturally they would have plenty of time to discuss such things later.

Things at Microsoft were going very, very well it seemed. "We didn't set out to monopolize the market," Ravi said. "Bill doesn't even want that. But, well…."

Yes, they were doing pretty good back in Redmond.

Upon her realization of just who Harry's older American friend was, Hermione proceeded to pepper him with questions as her father rolled his eyes behind her (her mother was at work).

"So, what are you working on these days?" Ravi asked Harry once Hermione seemed to run out of questions for the software engineer.

"Oh, well, being the carefree kid that you know me to be –" Ravi laughed "– I've gone back to game design."

" _Game_ design?" Ravi asked. He seemed skeptical.

"That's why I made BitHeap," Harry explained. "I needed a good application for video game graphics."

This had the American cracking up. "You made BitHeap to help you make video games?" he asked, amazed. Apparently Harry had never really told the people at Microsoft this, other than Bill.

"Well, yeah. Dudley said my game needed graphics to be fun. But the tools available were shit –"

"Language!" his aunt interrupted.

"– so I made my own. But I got a bit carried away and added some features I didn't even really need."

Ravi shook his head in amazement. "Kids are weird," he finally said, directing the remark at a nearby bronze of Henry V. "Don't you think? Well, Harry, let me know when your game is ready. I bet it'll be worth playing."

"I'll send you an early release," Harry promised.

All in all, it was a very nice birthday – followed by the longest month of Harry's life.

Oh, he had plenty to do – more, really, than he could possibly find time for. But no matter how busy he stayed, the minutes and hours and days seemed to pass at a snail's pace. He read all of his school books, and then he read a number of history books, and then he read arithmancy books – a subject not unlike maths except that it had magic numbers and auspicious geometry. He worked on his game a bit here and there, although his introduction to a real magical world seemed to take a bit of the wind out of his sails for creating his own fantasy world. He spoke to Hermione on the phone often, and they compared notes, and she read to him over the phone all the mentions she had found of him in books, since she had purchased several books on modern history. He made several more trips to Diagon Alley, buying more books and clothes and a few random things that caught his eye. But in spite of all of the activity, the month somehow seemed to dragged on and on.

On the last day of August, Harry's relatives treated him to a dinner at a trendy teppanyaki place, and they had a great time – but even then, Harry couldn't help but look at his watch every few minutes, amazed at how little time had passed, how little the distance between the present and 10:00 AM the following day had closed.

He knew that he would not feel like this if he were going to Eton College.

That night, he stared up at his ceiling, illuminated wonderfully orangely and in stripes by the streetlights that filtered through his pinewood Venetian blinds, feeling his anticipation flirting with the bounds of outright anxiety, and a strange series of images played vividly before his glassesless eyes: a green light, two oblong red orbs, soundlessly swimming, growing further and closer and away again, spiraling upwards into a tunnel he fell down into. Drowsiness wooled his perception. A wolf – a vase shattering – someone screaming – numbers of no discernible function – stars shimmering stunningly in the blue sky of day – a clawed hand, grasping at his heart, fingers all cold – escaping, fleeing, going nowhere, not escaping –

Somehow, he fell asleep.

And then it was September – September, September – in his barely-awake mind, it wasn't just September, but __September, September, September –__

He had things to do.

He got out of bed and showered and put everything out of his mind; the trance-inducing hot water on his face not cleansing him, but separating him from whatever that had been.

He felt strange, but he no longer knew why. He ate breakfast – eggs and toast. It tasted the same as always. He considered the salt, but only came to the conclusion that the eggs needed it after the meal was done.

"You're gone," Dudley said. The first words he heard that day. He realized that he was in a daze as he snapped out of it

"What?"

"After today, you're going to be gone for the whole year," his cousin said.

"Yeah, I suppose so. Well, there's Christmas break."

A wolf –

"I hope our breaks are at the same time," Dudley said.

"Christmas break is always at the same time, Dud," he replied, laughing. Why was he laughing – why was it strange that he was laughing –

His cousin laughed too. "Yeah, I guess it is."

Some time passed. He was packing his computer – his new one, beige instead of gray, the latest processor. His aunt came into his room. She looked at it pointedly, and Harry thought it would be nice if she offered a hand with it, but she said instead, "What do you plan to do with that?"

"What do you mean?"

"There's no electricity at Hogwarts."

Harry blinked. Then he blinked again, three times. And then he blinked. And he said, "What?"

"You won't be able to use those things there."

It seemed as though he were still trying to process the meaning of the phrase "no electricity at Hogwarts," the words echoing louder and louder in a strange spiral that reminded him of a wolf, when he found himself at King's Cross Station, standing before a great pillar of yellow bricks.

"You just go through there," his aunt told him, pointing at the pillar. It looked unyielding.

"Okay," he said. "Well. Okay. I'll see you Christmas. Thank you."

"Be safe," his aunt said again. Again? That's right – she had said that a dozen times, now. The car ride over started to enter his memory, jarring its sharply pointed way into his mind.

"I will," he said, and he offered his aunt his best smile, and his teary cousin a sloppy little salute, and he walked through the brick wall.

* * *

The Dursley family, who value normalcy above all else, would of course never dream of keeping their orphan nephew in a cupboard when they have a perfectly good spare room in addition to the guest room Marge frequently stays in. Nor would they resort to screaming loud enough for their neighbors to hear under any circumstances, nor would they make a spectacle of their orphan nephew by dressing him poorly or working him excessively, or do anything else to call attention to him.

They treated him not amazingly well, no. But they treated him as a human being, a family member who had some kind of value, even if they didn't want him.

Just that little bit – what could it do?

* * *

Thank you for checking out my story.

* * *

Cheers!


	2. Chapter 2

The Tinkerer

Chapter 2

 _ _Perception, perception, it's all just my perception__ _._ That's what he told himself. His vision swam, his hands seemed far away from him – someone bumped into him, he was blocking the path. His voice apologized. Nobody could tell. __It's just my perception, perception, perception, perception…__ _ _.__ He had no peripheral vision, and everything was far away. He was perfectly calm, he was in control, nobody could tell.

He wanted to scream.

He boarded the train.

He did not know what was wrong with him. He realized that he was breathing erratically. He tried to stop – he stopped breathing instead.

Not breathing helped. His mind slowed down. Things still looked strange, his body felt strange, but his mind was under his control again, for the most part. He tried to think of something, to prove it to himself, but nothing came to mind. He tried breathing again, and it came in shallowly.

He was in a train compartment that he remembered entering. He stowed his luggage away and sat down. __It's just my__ _ _perception__ _,_ he thought.

What was that dream?

The wolf – numbers – lights – something.

It was just a half-forgotten dream, now. It was nothing. He realized that he wasn't breathing again, and breathed, and then focused on just doing that.

Someone entered his compartment and introduced himself. Harry introduced himself, too. He had no idea who the boy was, though. He was making small talk. He was pretending to know all about Quidditch and the Hogwarts Houses. The boy across from him in the compartment had no idea how tiny and far away he looked, and had no idea how Harry's limbs felt like they had been attached at the last minute and could fall off at any time. Harry was acting normally.

 _ _STOP THIS__ _!_ he told himself. __JUST DON'T__ _._

"Have you been sorted before?" he was aware of himself asking.

"What do you mean?" the boy said.

"I mean, how do you know what house you'll be in? Have you been sorted before?"

"Oh, no. Never. I mean, we're only sorted once, aren't we?"

"Oh that's right, of course," Harry agreed. "Sorry, I'm really tired."

"That's all right. There's loads of things we don't know yet," the boy said agreeably. "I don't even know how the sorting works. My brothers said we have to wrestle a troll or something –"

"I've got to go find someone," Harry interrupted, standing up, yanking his luggage from the rack and dropping it to the carriage floor with a great smash. He dragged it through the door, leaving the compartment. He heard the boy call for him to hold on and wait up, but his voice sounded like it was being carried by the wind from a long way away. Harry carried on, waiting with a silent stare for people to move out of the way, tugging his trunk down the aisle.

He carried on along down the impossibly long train car, and by the gangway into the next, glancing into the rounded-square, grime-touched single-panes as he passed through and by. Finally, he found the compartment Hermione was in, recognizable even through the strange lens of his warped vision by her mane of fluffed brown, and entered without knocking. "There you are!" he exclaimed.

He wanted to hug her. He stood there, trying to smile.

"Harry? Are you okay?" his friend asked. "You're sweating."

"This thing is heavy," he explained. It wasn't very. "Hullo," he said, noticing the boy in the compartment.

"Hullo," said the boy.

"Harry, this is Neville. Neville, Harry," Hermione facilitated.

"Hullo," Harry said again.

"Nice to meet you," Neville said. He offered his hand. When Harry shook it, he was aware of the sweat on his own hand. He ended the handshake quickly and wiped his hands on his trousers.

"Could I join you guys?" he asked. It sounded so insecure, even to his own ears. __Stop this__ _!_ Except he didn't know what he was doing or how to stop.

They said that of course he could join them, so he stowed his luggage away. There were three benches in the shape of a 'C' so he sat down on the unoccupied middle bench under the window. Hermione to his right, Neville to his left, both looking at him, Hermione concerned, Neville confused.

Harry took a deep breath. "Sorry if I've interrupted something," he said.

"Not really," Neville said.

"We were just talking about the houses," Hermione said. "Neville thinks he's going to be a Gryffindor."

"Well, I'm not sure," Neville demurred.

"If you want to be, I'm sure you will be," Hermione said. "That must be how it works! I'm sure they just ask the students where they want to go. How else could they possibly do it?"

"Well," said Harry. "There _is_ magic."

Hermione pinked. It was clear that that had not occurred to her. Harry wanted to laugh, but he didn't want to laugh at her – but he laughed, anyway. "I'm sorry," he said. He was still laughing, though.

Hermioned sighed. "I deserve that," she relented. "Of course, there's loads of ways to do the sorting that I couldn't possibly have considered. But – oh, Neville, that doesn't mean you won't get into the house you want."

"What about you?" Neville asked her. "Where do you want to go?"

"I like the sound of Gryffindor," she said slowly. "I don't know."

Neville turned to Harry and Harry thought he was going to ask where _he_ would like to go, but instead he said quite quickly, "AreyouHarryPotter?"

"I guess so," Harry allowed.

" _Wow_ ," Neville said. That seemed to be all he had to say on that matter, though, because he didn't say anything else.

It was left up to Hermione to ask Harry which house he thought he might get into. "I don't know," Harry said. "I don't really care."

"Oh, but Harry! How could you __not care__? It's ever so important!"

Harry's face scrunched up. It didn't seem all that important.

Neville said, "My Gran told me that what house you're sorted into determines all sorts of things later in your life. It's how you make your social connections."

"Hm," Harry said. He was aware that his vision was no longer swimming. He was aware that he was breathing like a normal human being generally does. Whatever that had been, it was over. He felt pretty good. He felt attentive.

What Neville was saying really made sense. This was an elite school, after all. The people that they were friends with – or enemies with – at this school might determine all kinds of things in their futures. These people would probably grow up to be the next leaders of the country. He remembered what Oswald Fitzgerald-Fitzpatrick from Flourish and Blotts had said: __Why, if I had gone to Hogwarts, I would not be working here today, I assure you__ _!_ That meant that people that went to this prestigious school simply would not be bookshop sales attendants or something like that. They would be expected to do something _better_. But what exactly that was depended on what they did while at this school.

"I still don't know what I'd like to be, though."

"You should be in Gryffindor, right?" Neville said. "Your whole family were in Gryffindor. And you're _Harry_ _ _Potter__."

Harry wasn't quite sure what that meant. His name was somehow synonymous with a house he hadn't yet been sorted into? "Well you're __Neville__ ," he said. He didn't know Neville's last name. "You've got family going all the way back to – er – a long time ago, all Gryffindors. Lions, the lot. Feathery lions, even. Proud people – brave – er…."

"You don't really know a lot about the houses, do you?" Hermione asked, laughing.

"I know that they're brave feathery lions and what more is there to know, really?" he retorted, feigning sulkiness. "Anyway, is it true that there are no phones at Hogwarts?"

"Phones?" Neville asked, the word coming out of his mouth like unfamiliar jargon.

" _Tel_ ephones," Harry attempted to clarify, knowing that it was pointless, knowing the answer to his question. Neville's face remained blank. "There's no electricity? No radio or television or __computers__?"

"Wait – were you raised in the muggle world?" Neville asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah," Harry said. "My aunt and uncle are muggles."

"But you're __Harry Potter__!" Neville said again in amazement. Harry was starting to wonder how his very name had come to acquire so many additional meanings that he wasn't even aware of.

"Well you're __Neville__ ," he said again. He glanced at Hermione briefly just to make sure that he had the boys name right, then resumed looking pointedly at him.

"I just mean – well, I never thought that Harry _Potter_ – you, I mean – would be raised in the muggle world!"

"Is it really that surprising?" Harry asked unsurely.

"It's a _scandal_!" Neville exploded. "People would be up in arms if they knew."

"Oh," Harry said, startled. "Well. Best not spread it around, then."

"I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to," Neville promised.

"Not that it'll do any _good_. Everyone in the muggle world knows who Harry is. But wait, what's so bad about him being raised in the muggle world?" Hermione asked, seeming a bit offended.

"It's just that, he's a hero. Everyone assumed he was probably being raised by wizards in another country, or something like that. I mean, people are always speculating about it. But I've never heard __anyone__ suggest that maybe he's grown up as a muggle, ignorant about everything –"

"He isn't __ignorant__ ," Hermione said stridently. "He's actually pretty clever!"

"Thanks," Harry said flatly. "But you know what he means."

Looking at the situation from Neville's point of view, the boy was right. It _was_ strange that he had grown up in isolation and ignorance of the wizarding world. He remembered Dumbledore's letter to Petunia: __I bid you please to ensure that Harry has a quiet and normal childhood with you in the muggle world, for when he returns into the fold of the wizarding world he will doubtlessly be treated as a hero beyond compare__ _._ Based on those words, it had seemed like Dumbledore was simply trying to protect him from the attention, but that goal did not itself necessitate keeping him in the dark. It was all rather strange.

"But muggle technology doesn't work at Hogwarts?" he said.

"Even the wireless doesn't work at Hogwarts," Neville said sadly. "I like to listen to __Toots, Shoots 'n' Roots__ ," he explained.

"I see," Harry said. Hogwarts itself interfered with electronics. Wizards outside of Hogwarts used the radio, at least. Presumably, then, the castle itself had some kind of EM field all around it that just scrambled everything. Of course it would require testing to be sure exactly what was the cause of it.

"It's all in this book," Hermione said, rifling through her luggage. "If I can find it … Here we are!"

It was quite the book, the page count somewhere in the 3000's. It was __Hogwarts: A History__.

"Have you read this whole thing?"

"Not all of it," Hermione said. "Not yet."

Indeed, Harry found her bookmark somewhere in the middle of the tome. "Er – what am I looking for here?" he asked, paging through the index.

"Let me see that," she said, snatching it back from him, and finding the appropriate page in a few seconds. "Look. It says here … __muggle devices often don't work in highly magically-charged environments … the reasons are unknown … Hogwarts, being one of the most heavily magically-charged locations in the world, is also one of the least friendly to muggle devices … even devices that are commonly found in Wizarding homes, such as wireless … although they may work at other Wizarding hotspots, they are known to fail catastrophically at Hogwarts … For that reason, they are strictly forbidden. However, mechanical devices such as watches and cameras –__ they mean the wind-up kinds __– are known to work, although they may require … modifications. Currently, Hogwarts requires all such mechanical devices to be registered with one's Head of House as a safety precaution.__ There you have it."

"I still don't get it, really," Harry said. "Is it just some interference? Maybe that could be adjusted for."

"It's against the rules to even have them, though," Hermione pointed out. "So it would be hard to experiment. It's too bad though – it would be such a fun project."

Harry did some quick 'social math' of the kind his aunt specialized in and came to the conclusion that he would likely _not_ be expelled from school for violating that rule, at least on the first offense. Therefore, it was basically just asking someone to try.

"Hmmmn," he said. "Is that a frog?"

"Trevor!" Neville leapt out of his seat and embraced the amphibian, who had been attempting to make a quick escape through the crack under the compartment door. " _Why_ do you do this to me, Trevor?" the boy chastised it stroking it behind the bulbous eyes.

Harry and Hermione exchanged bewildered looks. "Is that your pet, Neville?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"Trevor'll be the death of me, I'm sure. He's always doing this."

Harry wondered to himself if it was possible to train a frog to sit, stay and roll over. Probably _not_ – therefore, they were definitely not ideal pets. "Is it for a potion ingredient?" he asked.

"Good lord, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's his pet!"

"I'd never do that to Trevor," Neville said. "Although toads _are_ useful for potions," he allowed.

"All right," Harry said unsurely. "Sorry."

"Oh, it's fine," Neville said.

"Ravenclaw is the house for nerds, isn't it?" Harry asked, switching their conversation back several subjects.

"Nerds?" Neville asked.

"Oh, you know. A geek, an egghead, a bookworm, a brain, a sophist, a know-it-all, a philomath, an erudite, a … well, a nerd."

"Well, that's about right then. Ravenclaws are where all of the really clever, scholarly types go," Neville explained.

"Being that this is a __school__ ," Harry reasoned, "then that's the best house. I think I'll go there."

"It's hardly as simple as that," Hermione lectured. "There have been many great scholars from all of the houses, you know? In fact, Dumbledore himself was a Gryffindor. And then there's the great Newt Scamander, a Hufflepuff. If you look at all of the great scholars of the age, only slightly more than a quarter of them were Ravenclaws – so being a Ravenclaw doesn't _really_ mean all that much!"

Harry found his friend's argument to be both sound and well-practiced – clearly, she had thought this over, and possibly thought it over and over and over. "It seems like you don't like Ravenclaw," he said cautiously.

"Well," Hermione started, calming down, apparently realizing how much of her own personal feelings that lecture had revealed. "Well, that is, I just don't like the idea of people thinking that my cleverness is _all_ I have to offer, you know? I mean, I don't want to sound pretentious, but I think it'll be obvious that I'm bright no matter where I go. So, I'd like to go somewhere other than Ravenclaw, so that people know right off the bat that there's more to me than just that."

Harry nodded sage-like. "I see," he said. "That actually makes sense. Being in Ravenclaw won't make you any cleverer, and your grades will show that you're clever no matter what house you're in. So it's better to pick one with some other trait so you look more well-rounded."

"Exactly!"

"Hufflepuff, then," Harry decided.

"Why Hufflepuff?" Neville and Hermione chorused.

"Well, I have no interest in the silly social games the Slytherins do – I'd much prefer to be around honest, loyal people." His compartment mates nodded. That was a given, apparently. "But I also have no interest in doing anything reckless – and 'brave' is very close to reckless. I'd much rather get results from good old-fashioned hard work than by some risky bet. That eliminates Gryffindor – and your points eliminated Ravenclaw. So it's got to be Hufflepuff."

"Harry, bravery isn't a bad thing," Hermione said. "It's actually a very good quality. You might say it's the noblest quality of all –"

"Nope! Not for me. I don't like taking risks. I'm too methodical. I make computer programs, you know? You can't just throw in some risky code and call it good. You've just got to work everything out line by tedious line, and make sure every little thing is functioning perfectly, make sure you've covered every single edge case, and __that's__ how you get results. That's how I work."

Neville was nodding slowly – something seemed to resonate with him, even though he had no idea what Harry was talking about. Hermione, on the other hand, wasn't convinced. "But Harry, think of all the great turning points in history – all the revolutions, and great heroes, and all. Those were all great risks that paid off!"

"Those people were all bonkers," Harry stated. "They destabilized entire societies based on their whims! Sure, the results were sometimes good, but sometimes the results were terrible! It's much better to change society slowly – that way you can be sure that you only add good things, and only get rid of bad things. Starting over from square one with a revolution is insane!"

"It's not __insane__ ," Hermione said. "But that was just an extreme example. I'm not arguing for a revolution!"

Harry raised his palms in the universal peace gesture.

"I can see your point, though," Neville said. "There's already enough risk out there without people glorifying risk-taking…."

"Here's a reasonable man – that's just what I think. I want to be known for something other than my brains – Hermione is dead on about that – but I don't think recklessness is that other thing I want to be known for."

"Bravery isn't the same thing as recklessness," Hermione said. "You can be brave without taking stupid risks. Or, there could be a situation where you have to do something risky, and bravery is that thing that makes you do it even though it's risky."

"Like in war," Harry said. "It's what makes soldiers go into battle even though things don't look good for them. Well, I don't consider myself –"

"Yes, but not just that. Think about the Renaissance. What if Galileo Galilee hadn't been brave enough to publish and stand by his results? The earth would still be the center of the universe!"

"I hadn't thought about it like that," Harry admitted. "Definitely, that's a point."

" _And_ ," she went on, "if you look at it, those people only had to be so brave because _others_ were so loyally supportive of the church! So it's a point against Hufflepuff."

"I don't think you can just say that loyalty itself is bad, just because some people have been loyal to the wrong things before," Harry said. "Although loyalty can certainly be dangerous, it can also be very good. Our society only works at all because people are, at least on some level, basically loyal to their country, and they agree to abide by its laws. If they weren't loyal, or if they didn't agree on the rules, it would be chaos. _Chaos_."

"I think they are both good houses," Neville arbitrated, playing the role of peacebroker. "Bravery and loyalty are both very good things – and most good people probably have both qualities, really."

"That's true," Hermione said.

"I'll be happy with either one," Harry allowed.

A lady came by with a sweets trolley, and Harry and Neville bought a few things. Hermione asked if there were any healthy options, which there was not. After Neville had demonstrated the wonders of some of the magical sweets to them, Harry asked Neville, "So, I was wondering what most people do after Hogwarts, for work I mean. What do your parents do?"

Neville's face told Harry that this might not have been the right thing to ask. He suddenly looked extremely depressed. "Oh," he said. "My parents … well, they're very ill. They're in hospital."

"Oh," Harry said awkwardly. "Er – sorry."

"Don't be," Neville said. "I mean, you just asked what my parents do for a living. There's nothing wrong with that. You didn't know. I live with my Gran."

"Okay," Harry said. Times like these, he never knew what to say. He wracked his mind, but the best he came up with was, "Well, what do _you_ want to do after school?"

"I haven't really thought about it much," Neville admitted. "My Gran wants me to take a position in the Ministry. If you go to Hogwarts, they're sure to give you a job there."

"Interesting," Harry said. The idea of working for the government was a new idea for him. Of course, it seemed like there was probably a higher ratio of government workers per capita in the wizarding world than in the muggle world, based on what he had read about the government, so of course it made sense that taking a position there would be a very common career path for graduates of this prestigious school. But the concept of working for the government stuck against his upbringing, his uncle having complained so very often how inefficiently they used the money garnished from working class wages. "It's pretty good work, working for the Ministry?"

"There's a lot of upward mobility in the Ministry," Hermione put in. "Several Ministers for Magic started off with entry-level positions within the Ministry, and leadership positions in the Ministry are all extremely well-compensated. So it's considered a great way to advance."

Harry tried to picture himself as a mid-level government worker. He suppressed a shiver. It must be Vernon's influence on him – Harry's uncle very deeply despised bureaucracy. "You said that that's what your Gran wants you to do," Harry prodded.

"To be honest, I'd rather be an herbologist. You can make a good living that way, you know. Only, it'll be a lot less prestigious than a position at the Ministry."

"Magical plants can be very valuable," Harry said, remembering some of the plants he had seen for sale in the Alley at apothecaries, potions shops and herbalists. Most of them were very cheap, but there were a few plants whose prices astonished Harry – they were usually the ones that were very hard to grow, either because they were dangerous or because they needed very specific conditions. "And fascinating," he added, remembering that some simple plants had effects comparable to potions all by themselves.

"I think so," Neville said, setting his eyes on the compartment floor as he went slightly red.

Harry had no idea why his new friend was embarrassed for loving plants. "I think it sounds like a really cool job," he said. "I doubt there're many positions in the Ministry that're more interesting."

" _ _Everything__ is so fascinating," Hermione gushed. "The plants, the animals, the gadgets, the places. It's all so wonderful." Harry agreed with the sentiment but wondered if maybe Hermione missed the point. He wanted to say something like, __but especially the plants__. But he could hardly say that – he had some tact.

"Before they were in hospital," Neville said, "my parents were both Aurors."

"Aurors … those dark wizard hunters?"

Neville nodded. "They're part of the Law Enforcement Department."

"Wow," Harry said. It wasn't something _he_ would ever want to do, of course, but it was definitely cool. "That sounds really dangerous."

"Well, it was," Neville said.

The compartment was quiet for a bit. __Of course__ _,_ Harry realized guiltily. __They were Aurors, and now they're in hospital…__ _._

"I've never really told anyone about that," Neville said after a while. "Well. I guess it's common knowledge for a lot of people. But I've never really talked about it."

Harry felt powerfully compelled to say something to lighten the mood, but that might have been disrespectful. Plus he didn't have anything.

"My parents are dentists," Hermione volunteered hesitantly. "That's like a doctor that fixes teeth."

"Teeth?" Neville asked, baffled. "Just that?"

"Well, yes! Teeth are very complicated, you know."

Neville laughed and then Harry and Hermione were laughing, too. Hermione, it seemed, always had something to say, even if it was something like that. Harry was glad all over again that he had ran into her at the park that day.

"So, growing up in the wizarding world, you must know loads of spells," Harry said.

"No, not really," Neville said. "I don't know any spells."

"Not even the Levitation Charm?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Neville said, pinking afresh. "You both already know some spells?" he asked, seeming confused.

"Harry's Levitation Charm is really good. Show him, Harry," Hermione said, setting __Hogwarts: A History__ on the floor for him to practice on.

"All right," he said, looking through his book bag for his wand. "Where is that thing – ah." He retrieved his wand, still kept in the box it came in from the shop so that it wouldn't get damaged, and pointed it at the book. Just then, however, their compartment door slid open and a boy entered, while two others stood behind him in the aisle.

"Have you lot seen him?" the boy asked without preamble.

"Excuse me?" Hermione said, while Harry and Neville just exchanged confused looks.

" _Harry Potter_ , of course," the boy said with an expansive, condescending gesture of the arms. "He should be on this train somewhere."

Hermione and Neville looked at Harry, who rolled his eyes at their lack of subtlety. He cleared his throat, stood up, and said, "And you are?"

"So, you're Harry Potter, are you?" the boy said, running a hand through his hair.

"Someone has to be," Harry said. "Mister...?"

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," the boy said importantly. "And these two are Crabbe and Goyle," he said, without indicating which was which.

Harry saw Neville blanch in the corner of his eye. Something told Harry that this was a sensitive moment. There was something going on here that he couldn't see. He wondered what the boy's name, Draco Malfoy, had meant to Neville to make his face contort like that. He wondered if he should tell the boy to get lost, or if that would make things worse, or what.

"Your father wouldn't happen to be Lucius Malfoy, would it?" Hermione asked.

"That's right," Draco said.

"Lucius Malfoy is one of the top advisers to the Minister for Magic," Hermione explained to Harry. Neville made a choking sound. "I'm Hermione Granger," she added.

Everyone looked at Neville, expecting his introduction, but he didn't say anything.

"I see you've got your wand out," Draco commented. "Were you about to do some magic?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry said. He hadn't really expected this audience, but it made no difference, he supposed. He pointed his wand at the book and said the incantation, and it rose up to chest level and hovered as perfectly still as if it were sitting on solid ground.

"I see you have some talent," Draco said approvingly, recognizing a perfectly cast spell when he saw it. "You know, with the right contacts, you could go far in this world. I can help there." The boy extended his right hand. Harry, whose right hand was still occupied with the levitation charm, awkwardly extended his left. Draco retracted his right, extended his left, and they shook.

Just then, a red-haired boy appeared in the aisle behind Draco and in front of Crabbe and Goyle.

"There you are!" the boy said, looking at Harry.

"Er?" Harry said intelligently.

"I thought you were going to come back," the boy said. Harry's eyebrows rose and scrunched together. The boy looked a bit familiar, but Harry had no idea who he was or what he was talking about.

"Do I know you?" Harry asked.

The boy began sputtering incoherently, and finally said, "We were in that compartment together!"

"Ah," Harry said, realization dawning. That's right. Back when that weird stuff was happening with his brain, he had been in a different compartment with this very person. "Sorry," Harry said. "I forgot about you."

The boy's face reddened darkly with humiliation and he sputtered some more.

"Er –" Harry said. He lowered Hermione's book into her lap. "What was your name again?"

"Ron Weasley!" the boy yelled. "And don't forget again!"

"Look, sorry about that ..." Harry tried to explain.

"Don't bother with him," Draco said. "The Weasley family are incredibly poor – I mean, just look at those clothes!"

Indeed, Ron's trousers were covered in enough patches to qualify as 'quilted,' and his trainers looked like they had been bought at a discount store and then driven over by a tractor a few times, and his shirt was extremely tight about his armpits and a bit too short at the waist. His face was smudged with dirt.

"He probably just wants to cozy up to someone like you," Draco continued. "Being who you are, there will be plenty of people trying to take advantage of you to increase their own opportunities."

This seemed to push Ron over the tipping point where rising humiliation fell into rage. He lashed out, trying to punch Draco – but he forgot that Crabbe and Goyle were right behind him. The two massive boys quickly wrestled Ron to the ground and pinned him there before he could do any damage. He choked under one of their elbows, which was pressing on the center of his neck.

"Somebody find a prefect!" Hermione yelled. Nobody moved, though, so Hermione darted out of the compartment herself to find an authority figure. But people all up and down the car were already looking out of their compartments to see what the ruckus had been about, and a tall ginger-haired boy was marching forward with the air of a person in charge.

"Some wizarding families are much better than others, Harry," Malfoy said quietly, looking down at the still-struggling Ronald Weasley as the prefect come close.

"What's the meaning of this?" the older student asked them, taking in the scene – the three boys on the ground, one pinned by the other two – Draco and Harry, standing just inside the compartment – Neville, standing behind Harry – Hermione in the hallway next to the three boys on the ground.

The boys all looked around at each other, none wanting to be the first to volunteer information. Hermione scoffed at them and crossed her arms. "This boy," she said, pointing at Ronald Weasley, "tried to punch him. But these two prevented it."

"I see," the prefect said, his eyes narrow slits as he regarded the other redhead on the ground. "Ron, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"He had it coming!" Weasley choked out. "Besides, I didn't even _get_ to hit him."

"I see," the prefect said again. "You two, get off of him." Draco nodded to Crabbe and Goyle, and they released Weasley and stood up. Weasley scrambled up too, his face extremely red, breathing hard. "Ron, come with me," the prefect said, grabbing him firmly by the shoulder and leading him away to his own compartment, presumably to keep an eye on him for the remaining duration of the train ride. "The show's over!" the prefect added to the audience at large. "Get back to your compartments."

"Well," Draco said, brushing imaginary dust off his chest. "Be seeing you at school." He walked off with his two sidekicks, back to wherever their compartment was. Hermione re-entered their own compartment, shutting the door behind her.

"What in the world was that all about?" Hermione asked after they had all settled down.

"Something you might want to know about Malfoy," Neville said, the first time he had used his voice since said Malfoy had appeared. "A lot of people think his father was a Death Eater during the war."

" _What?_ " Harry said.

"A Death Eater was one of You-Know-Who's supporters," Hermione supplied helpfully.

"I know that," Harry said. "I'm just surprised. Why would a Death Eater be one of the top advisers to the Minister?"

"Well he wasn't convicted," Neville said. "He told the courts that he had been acting under the influence of the Imperius Curse."

"What's the Imperius Curse?" Harry asked, looking at Hermione. She shook her head.

"The Imperius Curse is …" Neville said slowly. "It's one of the worst spells imaginable. It makes people do whatever you want them to do."

"Ah," Harry said, his mind reeling at the implications of the existence of such a spell. "Anything?"

"It takes away their free will," Neville said. "It makes them less than slaves."

"How horrible!" Hermione said, her face shocked white.

"It's an evil spell," Neville agreed. "It's one of the worst. And during the war, You-Know-Who used it on a lot of people. My Gran said it made the whole aftermath of the war a complete mess, trying to sort out who had been working of their own free will, and who had been Imperiused. Because if you commit a crime under the Imperius, well, you're not guilty. The person who is controlling you is guilty. But once the spell is canceled, it leaves no traces, so it's very hard to know."

"So," Harry summarized, "Draco's dad committed a bunch of crimes, but claimed he was being mind-controlled. But other people aren't so sure and think he probably did it of his own free will."

"My Gran thinks so. A lot of people think so. But he's been declared innocent, so there's nothing to do about it. Even if you personally think he's guilty, you have to treat him like he's innocent."

"Either way," Harry said slowly. "Draco is innocent. He was a baby back then."

"Yes," Neville said, "that's true. But the Malfoys … that family has been involved in some other things over the years, too. A lot of people would never trust them, just on principle."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said.

"Harry, you can't blame Draco for the crimes of his father, particularly when he's been declared innocent of those crimes!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I didn't say that," Harry said. "I just said I'll keep it in mind. Considering who I am, I have to be careful about everything."

"I guess you really do," Hermione agreed sadly. "But, what was the deal with that Ronald Weasley?"

"Oh, him. Well, before I came here, I was originally in the same compartment as him."

"But then why didn't you recognize him?"

"Oh, well..." For some reason he didn't want to tell anyone about what he had been going through that morning. "I was only with him for a few minutes," he said.

"You still should have recognized him straight away," Hermione said, unconvinced. "You're not the type to just blank people like that."

"I had a lot on my mind," Harry said defensively. "I wasn't really paying attention to him."

"All right," Hermione said, although he could tell that she knew there was more to it than that. She had enough tact to let it go, though. "But why was Draco so rude to him?"

Neville shrugged. "Family stuff, I guess," he said unsurely. "I wouldn't know. But Malfoy seemed to know who the Weasleys were."

"Oh, God," Harry said. "I've just been pulled into some kind of blood feud or something, haven't I?"

Neville laughed. "It sure looks that way," he said.

Harry sighed. For all the politicking going on already, he probably would have been better off at Eton! Ronald Weasley and Draco Malfoy were two people he would have to keep his eye on. "Draco wasn't wrong, though," Harry said after a while. "There will be a lot of people trying to cozy up to me for one reason or another."

"It's all a bit unfair for you," Neville said thoughtfully. "I mean, you've got to play these games with the old bloods, since you're __you__ , but they all have the advantage over you."

"Harry, while that's true, you can't let it make you suspicious of everyone," Hermione cautioned.

"You're right," he said. "But I think I should be careful. Not paranoid, just careful."

Harry let the events swirl around in his mind. Truly, there were many ways to interpret it all, and it left him with many questions that nobody could likely answer. But one thing was certain: "I definitely want to be in Hufflepuff," he said resolutely. "I think out of all of the houses, I'd stand the best chance for survival in there."

"How so?" Hermione asked. She was still pro-Gryffindor.

"Well, I think that the type of people that go into Hufflepuff are probably less likely to try and take advantage of me. I'd probably be pretty safe in Gryffindor, too, but there might be people who cause problems for me there, since they're known to act without thinking."

Hermione nodded. Apparently, that argument rang true to her, and she could see the implications. Seven years worth of people around him doing impulsive things could end very badly for someone like Harry Potter.

"I hate to say it," Neville said, "Because my parents were Gryffindors. And so were yours, Harry. But I think you're right about that. Gryffindors are known for causing a lot of trouble, sometimes."

Hermione clapped her hands together decisively. "Well, it's decided then. Hufflepuff for the lot of us, right?"

"You don't have to follow me!" Harry burst out, although inside he was grinning at her show of support. "That's not what I meant."

"Oh, please, Harry. Follow you? Honestly, you have such a big head. I was only __leaning__ towards Gryffindor. But I'd rather be in the same house as you."

Harry grinned. "Thanks."

"I'll be joining you there, then. Assuming we have a choice, that is," Neville said. "I like you guys."

It was only a few strokes of random chance that happened to bring the three of them together in that compartment, but it seemed like fate just then, at least to Harry. Hermione was the first person his age that he ever really considered a friend, aside from Dudley, sometimes. And he didn't even know how Hermione and Neville had ended up sharing this compartment before he came along. But in that moment, he truly believed that he was about to have the time of his life with those two. He felt strangely elated.

It started to get dark not long after that, and a bit chilly, so they got changed into their warm uniforms. Hermione, fortunately, knew how to tie a tie. "Honestly, between the two of you, one would think," she muttered as she fixed theirs. There was a small mirror in the carriage, presumably for smartening oneself up before the train came to the station, and looking at his reflection Harry thought he looked pretty good in that uniform. Even if the pointed, wide-brimmed hat still seemed ridiculous to him, he had a good quality one, and good quality robes that fit him well.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Standing there in front of the mirror, I'd have to say you look pretty vain," Hermione laughed.

Harry blushed and gave a chagrined laugh. "I suppose so," he admitted, sitting back down.

The compartment door opened and that redhaired prefect was there. "I see you've already changed. Good, good. We will be arriving in twenty minutes or so. You can leave all of your luggage here, it will be taken care of. When we arrive on the platform, the groundsman will escort you up to the castle."

Without awaiting a response, the boy shut the door and moved on, presumably to find more first-years to repeat his message to.

"I think I'll keep this handy anyway," Harry said, slipping his wand into a robe pocket. The robes had a special inside breast pocket just for wands.

Soon enough, they arrived at the station, and joined the throng of students pushing to get off the train. On the station platform, they found a giant of a man calling, "Firs' years! Firs' years, o'er 'ere!"

Once the first years were assembled and their noses were counted, the giant led them down a short path that ended at the shore of what looked like a small pond surrounded in thick trees, where a fleet of little white wooden rowboats was waiting. "No more 'an four to a boat!" the giant said by way of explanation. After helping a few of the less coordinated students climb aboard the boats, the groundskeeper took his own seat aboard a much larger boat and tapped the bow with a pink umbrella, whereupon all of the boats started moving forward in formation.

Not long after they had left that little shore, the lake suddenly widened and the trees parted and they caught their first glimpse of the castle.

It was breathtaking.

As they floated slowly ever closer, it became more and more clear just how simply enormous the castle was. It had a dozen or more great spires and towers, all twinkling merrily with faint torch and candle light from within. Above the castle, the clouds parted, revealing a half moon that illuminated everything with an ephemeral silver light. Shortly, they came right up to a cliff on which the castle was perched, and into a small cavern, where they disembarked on a torch-lit dock carved out of the stone foundation.

The giant groundsman then led them up and up a long series of staircases, sometimes straight, sometimes spiral, sometimes zigzagging or oddly curved, until finally they arrived in a high-ceilinged chamber of what was clearly the inside of the castle, if the medieval decor of suits of armor, hanging tapestries, and strange flags was anything to go by.

Only a few moments after they had all assembled there, and the groundsman did another nose count, a door at the side of the chamber opened very quietly – except, while it was briefly open, a cacophony of voices echoed through it – and a tall, stern-looking woman strode over.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," the groundsman announced, standing straight.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I shall take them from here."

The groundsman bowed and took his leave through the door the professor had come through previously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she announced. She sounded and looked quite cross, Harry thought, but perhaps that was just her normal behavior. "Please follow me."

The Deputy Headmistress led them through that same door. While the voices of students echoed loudly through the hall, they seemed to be off in another room – Harry spotted a great arched doorway that must have led to the assembly area. Professor McGonagall, however, led them through a smaller door and down a narrow hallway that terminated in space that could just about fit all of them, although it required close bunching up.

She cleared her throat. "The start of term feast will begin shortly, but before it does you all must be sorted into your Houses. The sorting ceremony is very important, because while you reside within this castle, your House will be like your family. You will share your classes, your living space, and your free time with the members of your House.

"The four Houses are Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each one is named for one of the four founders of this institution, and each has its own auspicious history going back to the time of the founding, over a thousand years ago. No matter where you are sorted, I hope that you will keep this tradition in mind and do your House proud.

"The sorting ceremony will begin in a few minutes. I strongly suggest that you take this time to smarten yourselves up," she added, eyeing Ronald Weasley, who, Harry noted, still had dirt smudged on his face.

The professor went through the door – while it was briefly open, a thunder of voices came booming through. Then it was quiet as the first years looked around at each other or tried to tidy up their appearances. Hermione began listing every spell she knew under her breath even while she adjusted Harry's tie again, in case the sorting involved a quiz. Harry listened to the spells she was listing and put a mental checkmark or 'x' next to each one he knew or did not know.

Someone screamed. Harry jumped and spun around, reaching for the wand still stowed inside his robes.

A dozen or so ghosts were floating through the room, chatting idly, seemingly oblivious of the students despite the great commotion.

"I say," one of the ghosts said, suddenly taking notice of the students. "What are all of you doing here?"

"New students!" said another. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"

Harry nodded along with some of the others, slowly stowing his wand away again.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" the ghost announced. "My old House, you know."

"Move along, now," Professor McGonagall instructed the specters, having appeared once more through the door. "The sorting is about to begin. Students, follow me in an orderly queue. Come along."

This time when she opened the door again, there was only the sound of a few hundred voices whispering and muttering, and when the first years had assembled before the rest of the student body, they voices became quite silent. Hundreds of people, staring up at them, silent.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," Hermione was telling him, looking up at the ceiling. Indeed, it looked like there was no ceiling at all, just the infinite expanse of heaven above them, stars twinkling, a cloud just now coming to cover the half-moon.

"Wow," he said.

Professor McGonagall was setting a stool in the middle of the space between the staff table and the students' tables, and then she placed an old hat on top of the stool. The hat's brim split open and it burst into song.

When the song was over, the hat took a bow to the applause of the entire assembly. The first years collectively relaxed as the hat revealed the method of sorting, which would be considerably more painless and called for considerably less study than any of the rumors that had been floating around.

"When I call your name, please take the stool and put on the hat to be sorted," Professor McGonagall said.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced blonde stumbled forward and sat. The hat would have swallowed up her whole head were not it for the pigtails that kept it up in the back, causing it only to cover her whole face. Before long, the hat announced her fate, which was "Hufflepuff!"

The far right table burst into applause, and a smiling Abbott, Hannah rushed over to the table, where people made room for her to sit down, and a few people gave rapid-fire introductions and one-armed squeezes before the next student was called.

And the process repeated itself just like that. Crabbe and Goyle went over to the Slytherin table at the far left, and then it was Hermione's turn. She ran forward eagerly and jammed the hat on her head. It took a considerable time for her to be sorted, though. Harry started fidgeting as the nervousness mounted. But then she was sorted into Hufflepuff, and, flashing a grin at Harry and Neville, she ran over to the table and sat down next to Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Harry sighed in relief and flashed Neville a covert thumbs-up.

Neville's own sorting was considerably quicker than Hermione's had been. Grinning, the sorting hat still on his head, he began to trot off to join her when he realized. He ran back to the stool, replaced the hat, and now thoroughly embarrassed, joined his new House amidst the laughter of most of the student body, receiving much merry back-thumping from his own Housemates when he arrived.

Draco Malfoy came shortly after Neville, and was sent without the slightest hesitation on the hat's part over to the leftmost table, Slytherin, to which he strutted over confidently. Harry had to quirk a half-grin at Draco's display of comical arrogance. Draco, glancing over his shoulder, saw Harry's grin and returned one of his own, apparently misinterpreting the reasons for it.

After Parkinson, Pansy was called, Harry kept thinking he was next, only for another 'P' name to come first – Patil, Patil again, Perkes, and even a Porter, which he almost mistook for his own name. Finally, his name was called.

Harry walked in measured steps, aware of the chatter that broke out all over the hall at the mention of his name, but acting as though he were deaf. He replaced the hat on his head with the one on the stool and took his seat there.

"Oh, my!" a voice whispered in his ear, distinctly audible over the continued chatter of the great chamber. "What have we here?"

"Hello," Harry thought tentatively. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, yes, I hear you. But there is no need to tell me anything, for there is nothing that can be hidden from me. Now, let's see.…"

"Please just put me in Hufflepuff," Harry thought as loudly as he could think. "I want to be in Hufflepuff."

"Ah, yes, your reasons are sound – and it would suit you well, I think. Yes, you are most wise for one your age. Truly, you belong in HUFFLEPUFF!"

The last bit was shouted out for the entire hall to hear. Harry swapped the sorting hat for his own hat again, and walked calmly over to the Hufflepuff table, where Hermione and Neville budged over to make a spot for him between them.

The dining hall, Harry was aware, was in an uproar. The students all around him at Hufflepuff table pushed in to shake his hand or punch or clasp his shoulder or pat his back, all the while people further down the table cheered, standing, some pumping their fists, all grins all down the table. The other three tables were a pictures of confusion: Ravenclaw and Slytherin were quiet and calculating about it, while at the Gryffindor table people were vocalizing outrage, calling for a resorting, calling to retire that moldy old hat, and so on.

Finally, Professor McGonagall made a sound like cannon fire with her wand and called the students to order, and the sorting resumed.

"Are you __the__ Harry Potter?" Justin Finch-Fletchley whispered, leaning over Hermione to do so.

"Probably," Harry said. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean are you __the__ Harry Potter, from Microsoft?"

"Oh. Yeah." Harry grinned. "I can't deny it."

"What the heck is Microsoft?" Susan Bones asked from across the table.

"It's a computer company," Justin explained. "Harry Potter is a celebrity in the muggle world for developing some very good software for them!"

Susan blinked owlishly. "He's famous in the muggle world?" she said slowly. "For an invention?"

"But you must have known that," Justin said, perplexed. "Why else would everyone be so pumped about him?"

"He's famous in our world, too," she said. Susan shook her head, staring mutely at Harry, while all around the Hufflepuff table there was a chain reaction as this information was shared. Soon the information arced over to the Ravenclaws. They, too, had not realized that people from muggle backgrounds and people from wizarding backgrounds were both excited about Harry Potter for very different reasons. Soon the word was traveling all over the hall.

Professor McGonagall let out another cannon fire sound after Dean Thomas was sorted to zero fanfare, his own House too engrossed in this strange new rumor.

"Silence!" she demanded. "Silence at once!"

Harry felt very bad for all of the students that had come after him in the sorting. There were just a few children left, but it was only after Professor McGonagall let out another cannon-fire sound and some _very_ stern words that people really refocused on the sorting, and by that point there was only one boy left up there with Professor McGonagall. He, at least, seemed to be very amused by the whole thing.

"Zabini, Blaise," was sorted into Slytherin.

Professor McGonagall glared around at the students in irritation one last time before vanishing the stool and gathering up the hat and taking it away.

Albus Dumbledore stood, his arms open wide, grinning. "Welcome," he said with meaning. "Welcome, welcome, welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Traditionally, I would take this time to say a few words."

Dumbledore sat back down, and a great feast suddenly materialized. Seeing the food, Harry felt his stomach contract, and began piling food on his plate without question.

"That was odd," Hermione noted.

"Yep," Harry said, picking out a slice of ham to add to his plate.

"Dumbledore likes to keep people off balance," an older student explained. "Some people say he's mad. Others say it's all an act. I'm Neil, by the way."

"Hello," Harry said. "What do you think, Neil?"

"A bit of both, maybe," Neil said, laughing.

Harry stole a glance up at the staff table, where, to his surprise, he caught several of the professors regarding him, obviously talking about him. "Looks like I won't get a single quiet moment," he observed.

"Things will settle down," Hermione assured him, looking up at the staff table too. "I'm sure the teachers will treat you fairly."

"Is that all true?" Justin asked Harry, once again leaning over Hermione. She gave him a most affronted look as his head hovered over her dinner plate, but he did not seem to notice or care.

"What?"

"You defeated a dark lord when you were a baby?"

"Oh. That. Well, so they say. There were no witnesses, I gather."

Justin leaned back, to Hermione's relief, and let out a puff of astonished air. Then he leaned back in and said, "But tell me –"

"Excuse me!" Hermione said. "You're in my way!"

Justin lurched back again, seeming to notice Hermione for the first time. "Sorry," he said, turning back to talk to someone on his other side.

"What nerve!" Hermione said, scowling.

"Never mind that prat," Hannah Abbott said, giving him a withering look of her own. "He's just over-excited, I'm sure."

"Thanks, Hannah," Hermione said, smiling at her. Apparently they had already exchanged formal introductions before Harry had been sorted.

"I'm Hannah," the girl said unnecessarily to Harry. "And this is Susan," which he had also gathered already.

"Hello," he said. There was no point in saying who he was.

"I must say, I'm surprised you're here with us," Hannah said. "Most people speculated that you would be sorted Gryffindor."

Harry shut his eyes and nodded wisely. "Yes, but had they known me, they might have known different," he pointed out.

Hannah's pink face grew a shade pinker. "Well," she said. "Fortunately for us, we will get to know you." And she gave him a big, toothy, beaming smile. Susan, sitting next to her, rolled her eyes at her friend's over-the-top antics while Hermione snorted.

Harry grinned back. Actually, hearing someone say that was pretty nice. If what Professor McGonagall had been saying was remotely true, these students around him, his Housemates, would be like his family here at school, and he would probably get to know many of them very well over the next seven years, and they would get to know him, not as the infant war hero, or as the tech sector prodigy, but just as him. It was a nice idea.

Looking around at them, Harry was pretty happy with what he saw. Even Justin's slightly rude behavior was totally forgivable to him. So, grinning at his fellow First Years, he said loudly, "Is this going to be the best seven years of our life, or what?"

All of the Hufflepuff first years, and many of the older students nearby, let out a round of cheers.

* * *

Some points of note:

There are a lot of other magical schools besides Hogwarts. Simple math says that Hogwarts could not possibly educate the entire population of even a small village. I'm estimating that there are anywhere between 10,000 and 100,000 witches and wizards in Britain, plus thousands of sentient magical creatures.

Secondly, there are two main ways to get into Hogwarts: the Fancy Quill that Writes Names in a Registry Book, and also by being old blood. If you happen to be lucky enough to be picked by the Fancy Quill, that means that its magic detected you and decided that you were in one way or another exceptional. You may or may not live up to that potential, though – it writes your name down at birth, and a lot of things can happen between birth and eleven years old, and a lot of things can happen after. But the Fancy Quill, at least, thinks you have the Right Stuff. Some old families have standing arrangements to have all of their children accepted to Hogwarts, regardless of their talent or intelligence. Such arrangements have fallen out of practice and no new agreements are being made, but they are still upheld as binding agreements. In some cases, the old families may even have paid for all of their descendants in advance, while other families must still pay for the schooling.

I'm using the terms 'old blood' or 'old family' as alternate terms for purebloods, used by people who don't want to imply that other people are somehow impure. I think that a term like this should exist in polite English society.

Back in Chapter 1, I mentioned that the goblins routinely take advantage of the muggleborn population by giving them absurd exchange rates. However, the Ministry also provides student loans for those who cannot afford tuition and school supplies, which allows the muggleborns, as well as poor people who are not muggleborn, to pay for their education after they graduate. Of course, they have to get a job in the wizarding world, and get paid in wizarding money, to have any hope of paying off that debt. This system tends to perpetuate a muggleborn underclass doing menial work, paying off their subpar education with low-paying jobs. Muggleborns who take out loans to pay for an _expensive_ education, like Hogwarts, find themselves very deeply in debt indeed when they graduate, but have better prospects for paying it off. Students who accept the Ministry loans but fail to graduate, or fail to find work after school, are in a very bad situation (Hagrid and Lupin are two examples). Of course, there are plenty of muggleborns who succeed despite these odds.

So, Harry has anxiety. That's okay, so do a lot of good, smart people. He doesn't let himself suffer from it, though. He doesn't let himself acknowledge it. He just powers through as best he can, trying not to let anyone see him flinch. Well, as most people who've suffered from anxiety know, that strategy can work quite well for a very long time – and it can also fail quite suddenly. We'll see. Actually, come to think of it, Neville and Hermione have anxiety issues as well. What a ragtag crew we have here.


	3. Chapter 3

The Tinkerer

Chapter 3

Soon, the meal was over, and Dumbledore stood up again to deliver a more proper speech. "Pupils!" he called. "Just a few announcements before we all go to bed. First, it is my pleasure to welcome back Professor Quirinus Quirrell, who will be resuming his post as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Said Professor awkwardly stood up for a few moments to scattered applause, then sat back down. As Harry looked at him, he felt a strange pressure on his head, like if he had a really bad cold. But as quickly as the feeling came, it went.

"I have been asked by our dear Mr. Filch to remind all students that magic is strictly forbidden in the corridors. Mr. Filch has also kindly prepared a list of forbidden items, which you may peruse in your House Common Room at your disposition.

"Next, House Quidditch teams are advised to arrange a date to hold tryouts with Madame Hooch between next Monday and the following Friday. Interested parties may contact the same Madame Hooch for more information.

"Finally, I must warn you that the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is strictly out of bounds for any who do not wish to die a painful and humiliating death."

Neville and Justin both laughed, but Harry, Hermione, Hannah and Susan just exchanged taken-aback expressions.

"He must be joking, you lot!" Justin said, seeing their faces.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Neil told him. "I suggest you don't go check for yourself."

Neil, who turned out to be a Fifth Year prefect, led the First Years to their Common Room, which was not far away. He gave them a quick rundown on some of the important amenities offered by the Common Room: the central hearth, which was a very nice place to relax, having a ring of comfortable couches and chairs all around it. The quiet study room, which was off in a sound-proof side chamber and was complete with a number of desks and chairs. The mini-library, which consisted of five hundred or so hand-picked books, including many works of fiction. And finally the recreation area, which had two billiards tables and a great number of games; the House had billiards tournaments every Friday night. Finally, Neil directed them towards the two archways that led to the boys' and girls' dormitories.

The boys found at the end of the hall a room with a placard saying "Year 1." Inside were five large beds arranged in a circle around the room, each accompanied by a night stand with an enchanted lamp on one side and a dresser on the other. At the foot of each bed was their luggage they had left on the train. Their suite also included a large bathroom with two toilets, two showers and a bar of five sinks with a massive mirror over it.

Harry brushed his teeth and washed his face in the bathroom side-by-side with Ernie Macmillan. The other three boys were moving their luggage around, trading beds. "It's pretty nice," he said around his toothbrush, looking around at the bathroom fixtures.

"It's all right," Ernie said.

Harry choked a bit and spat, then rinsed his mouth out.

"All right, mate?" Ernie asked. He seemed a bit weary.

"I'm good," Harry said, leaving the bathroom.

Harry had always been a quiet and shy person, and while he had learned to assert himself a bit, he had never really learned to open up to people. He would even lie to people for no apparent reason, sometimes, like how he had lied to Hermione when he first met her. He would sometimes stay up long nights fretting over unimportant things. And even though he _knew_ that he was an intelligent, capable person, sometimes he just didn't act like he knew it.

As he stared up at the ceiling above his bed now, in the Hufflepuff dormitory on his first night at Hogwarts, he decided that he would put all of those weaker parts away forever, and do everything he could to embrace the better parts of himself.

It was easy to say – but here he still was, staying up late staring at ceilings, again.

He thought about the other boys in the dorm with him: Neville, Justin, Ernie and Wayne. They were all good guys. He could see them all as potential friends.

He could even see Draco as a potential friend.

He thought about Hermione, and wondered how she was doing. Hannah and Susan both seemed like good people, and she was already friendly with them. He hoped the other girls in the dorm, Megan and Cerie, were nice too. He hoped that it hadn't been a mistake to rope her along with him to Hufflepuff.

After spending years thinking of nothing but computers and problem solving, Harry's mind was suddenly extremely focused on everything he had ignored that whole time. He was focused entirely on people.

It was weird for him, but he thought it was good. This whole 'social' thing, he would approach it just like any other problem. He would work out every bug. He would find every edge-case. He would make it run. He would optimize it. He would add new features.

He hoped that people worked like that.

As his eyelids finally grew heavy, his mind began to play a series of images to him: the faces of everyone he had met that day. Their names, all that he knew about them, ran through his mind rapidly like an electric shock. Then all of it was before him, in a great array of information, all visible, all at once.

He slept without dreaming, and when he awoke the next morning, a thought came sluggishly into his mind: _treat every moment like a defining moment_.

He let this thought swim around his head for a while as he listened to his dorm mates arise and get ready for the day, until Neville came and asked if he was awake.

"I'm up," he said. "I'm up."

He got out of bed and took a shower and brushed his teeth and got dressed. All of his dorm mates were waiting for him.

"Sorry guys," he said with an apologetic grin. "I couldn't sleep a wink last night! Too excited, I guess."

"Same with me," Ernie Macmillan said. Harry was surprised. Someone else had been silently staring at the ceiling too? "I don't even know when I finally got to sleep."

 _Treat every moment like a defining moment_ , he thought again, but wondered how. What did that mean for him right now? What was he supposed to say, to make this instant an important one? What –

"We'll be late," Justin said.

As they walked the short way to the Great Hall, Harry told Ernie, "You know, I was more nervous than excited, really. I don't have any idea what to expect."

Ernie grinned at him. _Little things like this_ , Harry realized. _Little private comments, little shared ideas. That's all it is._ "Yeah," Ernie agreed. "All of this is kind of overwhelming, really. I've never even slept anywhere but home."

 _There it is_ , Harry thought. _Just like that_.

Harry grinned back. "You know, I spent a month in America by myself. It was really weird at first. But then it was really amazing, too."

"Best seven years of our life, right?" Ernie said.

"What took you so long!" Hannah exclaimed as the boys arrived at the Hufflepuff table.

Harry rubbed the back of his head with a grin. "Sorry, my fault," he said. "I slept in."

"Classes start soon," Hannah said. "We have your schedules. Well, all of our schedules are the same. Get some food in."

"All right, all right," the boys all said, amused or exasperated, grabbing toast and muffins.

 _How quickly it happens when you let it_ , Harry thought. This scene right here – the boys late for a meal, Hannah chastising them – it was already like they were all good friends. Everyone was smiling, talking about their classes for the day. Harry was smiling, putting in his penny's worth.

He thought, _I've got to get a camera_.

"They're all talking about you," Neville said, looking around the Great Hall. It was true. Everywhere, people around him were staring at him, craning their necks trying to get a better look, and trading rumors with their friends. He couldn't tell what they were saying for the most part, but he heard his name on their lips.

"I'm used to it," Harry said nonchalantly. It had been a little bit like this – maybe not quite as bad – when he first went to his new school in London. It wasn't the most comfortable thing, but they didn't mean any harm, after all. "It doesn't matter."

"You've made it in the paper, too," Susan Bones commented. "Front page, even."

Sure enough, looking at Susan's newspaper, Harry saw an image of himself, which he had no idea when it had been taken, along with the apparently shocking news of his sorting, along with all kinds of speculation about what it might mean.

"Must be a slow news day," he remarked.

"It's time for classes," Hermione said, standing up. Harry and Neville both snagged another piece of toast to go before the food all vanished, and the whole lot of First Years trooped off. "Charms is up first," Hermione said unnecessarily. They all had schedules. "Should be on the second floor somewhere."

Out in the Entrance Hall, there was a massive staircase which seemed to be the central staircase, if the amount of traffic was anything to go by. In fact, almost the entire student body seemed to be heading up it. The Hufflepuffs joined the mass of students heading up the stairs. The stairs, however, led directly to the 'third and a third' floor. The third and a third floor consisted of a single landing where the central staircase ended, and then a great square chamber absolutely filled with dozens of staircases which went up and down. Most of the older students seemed to know where they were going. The Hufflepuff First Years had a brief, informal vote and selected a staircase – which, unfortunately, took them all the way back down to the ground level. When they all turned back to try another staircase, they found that the one they had taken down was no longer there, having swung around to connect the third and a third floor with another part of the ground floor.

"Brilliant," Wayne Hopkins said sarcastically. "Now we're stuck!"

"Relax," Justin said. "Look, here comes another staircase."

Sure enough, another staircase swung around and connected itself to where they were standing. Not seeing a lot of options, the first years climbed up the staircase, only to realize half-way that it went much higher than they needed to go. At the top was another landing, which had another staircase connected to it. Hermione rubbed her temples. The boys looked around at each other and laughed. They had no choice, so they went down the stairs.

Fortunately, they found themselves on the second floor – but on the north side of it, when their schedules said that their classroom was on the west side. Still, hoping that there might be a corridor connecting the two wings, they went in.

The north side of the second floor was apparently not used much. There were no students around, for one thing, and all of the classrooms they peered into were empty. Eventually, at the end of the corridor, they did find another corridor that led off to the left, and further along they finally found their classroom.

"We've got to get a map or something," Wayne said. "That was mad."

"I wonder how one could make a map of something that's always changing," Harry said thoughtfully, thinking the problem over. If there was a pattern, it would be simple, but require a lot of observation, to sketch out a list of rules and design a program that always produced the correct map. Of course, at Hogwarts, that was useless. And if there wasn't a pattern, there was no way.

"At least we made it in time," Justin said, consulting his watch. And when they entered the classroom, they found that they were the first arrivals.

"Ah! Hufflepuffs!" a tiny man said from the front of the room. "You found the place in almost record time! Please, please, take your seats, take your seats."

They waited quite a while for the majority of the students to find the classroom. A pair of Slytherins drifted in not long after them, but then it was quite a while more before the next group of Slytherins – Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, plus a girl Harry didn't know – found the place. Then the Gryffindors came in all in a group, as the Hufflepuffs had. Finally, the Ravenclaws showed up with the remaining Slytherins in a group.

Fifteen minutes had passed since the Hufflepuffs arrived.

"Is it going to be like this every day?" Justin asked.

"Oh, it's always like this, First Year!" the professor said cheerfully. "Worry not! In a few weeks, you will have it down pat."

Their lesson consisted not of spellwork, but of the very basics of wand magic: how to properly hold and care for one's wand. Then the professor told them all a brief summary of the history of how wands had been invented to begin with. Harry and the others diligently took notes – it was, if nothing else, a good opportunity to practice with a quill – but they left feeling disappointed. Their first assignment was to write a one-foot essay on the various magical conduits that were used before wands, and how wands addressed some of the shortcomings of those eldritch devices.

"When will we get to learn some magic?" Wayne lamented as they filed out. But he did not have to wait long. When they eventually made their way to the transfiguration classroom, way up on the sixth floor – the entire mass of First Years traveling more or less together – they found that Professor McGonagall wanted to get to work right away. She gave a brief demo of animate-to-inanimate transfiguration by turning her desk into a great hairy boar and back again. Then she immediately dove into a lecture on the most basic principles of the art of transfiguration. Finally, in the second hour of the class, she let them try their hands at some real magic. They wouldn't be turning their desks into pigs right away, but at least it was something: they all went to work trying to turn a matchstick into a needle.

Before Harry set to work, he reviewed what the professor had been telling them.

The matchstick and the needle were roughly the same size and shape: this took advantage of the Principle of Superficial Similarity. They were, however, very different materials, which went against the Principle of Material Similarity, and they had different functions, which again went against the Principle of Similar Purpose. In elementary transfiguration, each of these principles were used to make the spellcasting easier.

Thinking about it as a riddle, he came to what he hoped was the right conclusion: in order to make the transfiguration easier, he would do it in two steps, rather than all at once.

Looking around at his fellow students, Harry noted that he was the only one who still didn't have his wand in hand. Ron Weasley seemed to have already gotten frustrated and was just jabbing at the matchstick randomly. Hermione had already affected some changes in her own matchstick – it was longer, and pointier, and a bit shinier than it had been originally.

Harry pointed his wand at his own little wooden stick and focused on making its purpose similar to that of a needle. When he was ready, he pushed the magic out, and to his pleasure the matchstick had transformed into a perfect, if wooden, needle. He prepared his mind again for the second step, which, to him, seemed to be the more difficult one. He decided that it might be best to approach this as a sort of pseudo-chemistry problem. In order to change something that was basically carbon (a bit of wood) into something that was basically iron (a needle), he would have to increase its atomic number by 20 – which meant changing its period from 14 to 8, and changing its group from 2 to 4. Focusing on this, he was about to cast the spell, when it occurred to him that the professor had not specified iron. Wouldn't it be simpler to change it to aluminium? In that case, he would only have to increase its atomic number by 7, change its period from 14 to 13, and change its group from 2 to 3. Certainly, out of the metals that one would want to make a needle out of, aluminum was the 'most similar' to carbon. So, with that in mind, he pushed his magic through, and he had a perfect aluminium needle.

"How did you _do_ that!" Hermione burst out, staring at his work. Harry saw that her own needle had not changed from when he had last looked.

Professor McGonagall came over and plucked his needle from the desk, inspecting it. "Aluminium?" she asked, bending it.

"Yes, Professor."

"A perfect transfiguration, Mr. Potter. Five points to Hufflepuff. Would you care to explain to the class what you did?"

To Harry, it seemed that the professor herself was quite interested to know. Looking around, Harry found that he once again had an audience. "All right," he said, taking control of his embarrassment. "Well, I was just thinking about the Principles you were discussing, and it occurred to me that it would be easier to alter the needle twice, rather than try to do it all in one go. So I first altered its purpose by changing its shape into that of a needle, and then altered its material to metal. But I chose aluminium specifically because it is the metal most similar to wood."

This earned him a great number of confused looks and not a few uncertain giggles.

"Care to explain, Mr. Potter? In what way is aluminium similar to wood?"

"Well, I was just thinking of the Periodic Table, professor, and it occurred to me that aluminium has the most similar atomic number, period and group to carbon – and wood is basically carbon. Beryllium and magnesium also might have been good choices, based on their chemical properties alone, but they're not ideal materials for a needle."

"Of course!" Hermione exclaimed. "How did I miss that?"

"I'm afraid I really don't follow you, Mr. Potter," the professor said. "However, I can't deny that whatever it is you did worked. For the remainder of the period, please try to do the same transfiguration in a single step."

Harry was able to do so on the first try by thinking of the whole process as an algorithm or function and then 'running' it all at once. So after that he tried to help his fellow Puffs to get the transfiguration down. Only Hermione really knew what he was talking about, though: although Wayne and Justin had at least heard of the Periodic Table, they didn't really get it, and none of the other students had ever heard of the Periodic Table. Still, the advice to do the transfiguration in two steps, making it similar according to one Principle at a time, seemed to help everyone.

"You really are _that_ Harry Potter," a boy sitting behind the Hufflepuffs observed.

"Probably," Harry said, turning around. "And you are?"

"Terry Boot. I found your advice very helpful, by the way." Terry's own needle, on his desk, was overly-long and wide. "I've just been experimenting with altering its superficial similarity," Terry explained.

"Brilliant," Harry said with a grin. Of course, manipulating the Principle of Superficial Similarity would be the next logical experiment.

"I guess it's inevitable that you cause a stir," Terry said. "Being who you are."

"Oh? Care to elaborate on that?"

Terry just laughed and shook his head, leaning back in his seat. Harry realized that, once again, he had an audience – Terry Boot probably had something to say that he didn't want the whole of First Year to hear.

"What was that all about?" Neville asked him, eyeing Terry.

"Dunno. Don't worry about it."

Lunch was a boisterous affair at the Hufflepuff table. Harry was happy that some of the attention had been taken away from him thanks to a Third Year called Eric Riley. Once the majority of the House was assembled and eating, Eric stood up on the bench and struck a goblet with a spoon. "Hufflepuffs!" he said loudly. "I have an announcement! It is my pleasure to introduce you all to our newest couple: Haleigh Copperbell and Cedric Diggory!" Said Haleigh and Cedric, covering their faces in embarrassment, were the subjects of much catcalling and back-thumping, most of the House laughing and cheering. The Ravenclaws and Slytherins mostly just looked on, while many of the Gryffindors joined in the cheering and jeering. Even a few of the staff could be seen laughing. But they were good sports, and after the initial shock of the embarrassment had worn off, they stood up and took a bow – Cedric bowing while holding a struggling Eric in a half-Nelson. The whole affair left them all in a cheerful mood for their afternoon classes.

A mood which, unfortunately, would not last long for the First Years.

"What's our next class?" Justin asked as things were settling down.

"Potions!" Hermione said promptly. "I'm ever so excited. It seems like such a fascinating subject!"

"Oh Merlin," Ernie said morosely.

"What's wrong with potions?" Cerie asked.

"Nothing is wrong with potions," Ernie said. "It's the teacher. Look, you see that hook-nosed guy?"

They all looked, and noted a most dour-looking man standing up from the staff table, apparently taking an early leave of the meal.

"Professor Snape," Ernie said, putting a name to the face. "My sister says his mother was a hag and his father was a ghoul."

Indeed, looking at his gaunt, pointed face, partly obscured by thin, oily hair, and the way he walked, or rather glided, phantom-like, in the shadows of the edge of the Great Hall, Harry thought that perhaps that theory had some merit. The Hufflepuff First Years finished their meals and headed into the subterranean part of the castle with no small measure of trepidation. Hermione was the only one among them that thought that what Ernie had said was nonsense, and was trying her best to get everyone excited about potions class. Neville, Hannah and Cerie seemed to appreciate her words, even if they didn't seem entirely convinced.

The Hufflepuffs arrived after the Ravenclaws and took their places at the remaining seats of the classroom. The Hufflepuffs all partnered off and set themselves up at a lab station, since the stations, having one cauldron and two chairs, were meant to be used by pairs. Harry partnered up with Hermione, who dragged him to an empty station in the front row. "Don't let that Ernie sour you on potions!" Hermione hissed at Harry. "This is going to be one of our best classes. Ernie's sister probably just got a bad grade or something."

Harry gave her his best grin. He, too, had enjoyed his study of the potions textbook over the summer. It had even kept him up late, some nights, as he poured over it. But he just couldn't shake the feeling of distaste his first impression of that professor had left him with.

Soon enough, said professor swept into the room. Even this close, he seemed to glide more than walk, moving without the slightest hint of audible footsteps.

After favoring the lot of them with a dark look – that Harry was sure lingered on him for overly-long – Professor Snape took the class's roll. When he came to Harry's name, he gave pause, and said, "Ah, yes. Harry Potter, our new – _celebrity_."

"Here," Harry said calmly.

You could hear a pin drop. Professor Snape favored him with a deadly, gleaming expression that made Harry want to blink, which he finally did after a few moments. Then the professor finished the roll.

"You are here to learn the science and art of potioneering," Professor Snape said quietly without any further preamble. "Few of you, however, will ever understand the delicate beauty of the distillation of decadently dancing vapors or the vivid viscerality of venomous extracts. In this classroom, you may learn to bottle luck, blend longevity and brew loyalty. If, that is, you are not as big a bunch of beetle-brained buffoons as I normally teach."

Professor Snape's poetical speech was definitely not what Harry had been expecting to hear. He could not help but quirk a brow, perplexed by this professor's odd mannerisms. Next to him, Hermione seemed to be chomping at the bit to prove herself other than normal as she leaned forward, fascinated.

"Potter!" Professor Snape suddenly yelled, causing most of the class, including Harry, to jump in their seats. "What would I get if I added the powdered root of an asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Professor Snape asked in extremely rapid speech.

It was straight out of the introduction of their text, Harry realized. Although the manner in which it was asked was disconcerting, it was not a difficult question. "The Draught of Living Death," he said.

"Correct," Professor Snape said, although his eyes narrowed dangerously. "I see you've at least cracked open your text. Tell me, then, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

That particular question caused Harry to smile. He remembered reading all about the natural properties of untreated bezoars, and how those properties could be augmented to create some of the most important and powerful medical potions of the day. "They occur naturally in the stomachs of a number of animals, but the bezoars of goats are considered the most potent."

"That is correct," Professor Snape said, now openly scowling at him. Professor Snape's dark eyes lingered on Harry for a while before he said, "Seeing as we have an odd number of students, one of you will be required to work alone. As Potter has demonstrated a passing knowledge of the text, I'm certain he will be up to the task. Potter, Turpin, trade places."

Turpin, a gangly girl with curly brown hair who had been sitting at the very back of the class, apparently trying to avoid the notice of even her fellow housemates, let alone the teacher, had a deer-in-headlights expression as she was asked to replace Harry in the front row as Hermione's lab partner. As Harry passed her, he offered her a tight but encouraging smile, but she didn't even look at his face to see it as she scurried by him. As Harry replaced her at that station in the back corner, he found that she had left behind an ink pot and a quill in her haste. With the idea of returning it to her after the dust had settled, Harry put her things in his bag and got out his own stationary.

There was little note-taking to be done in the class, however. Professor Snape waved his wand, and a recipe appeared on the blackboard in a tight scrawl of chalk. Harry copied the recipe down just so that he wouldn't need to keep referencing the board. The recipe was dead simple, though, so maybe it hadn't really been worth the bother. It consisted of just four ingredients – five, counting the water – and some simple prep instructions and brewing instructions. They had to measure out a precise weight of dried nettles, and Harry took the extra few seconds required to pick out all of the dark brown nettles and only use the better-looking red ones. Then, instead of crushing the snake fangs with the flat of a knife like some of the others were doing, he got out his mortar and pestle and ground them into a fine dust. Professor Snape lurked around the classroom the entire time, standing over people's shoulders and whispering criticisms to them. When he came around to Harry and saw him working the mortar and pestle, he said, "I see you've decided to pulverize the snake fangs instead of crush them as the directions clearly instructed."

Steeling himself, Harry said, "I have."

"Why."

"It seemed the only way to get a uniform consistency was to grind them into powder, rather than use random crushed fragments."

Professor Snape stared Harry down darkly for a moment, before saying, "I hope you've thought to compensate for the much greater rate of dissolution," and moved on.

After he had plucked out the bad nettles and weighed the rest, pulverized the snake fangs, skinned the horned slugs, and counted out the porcupine quills, Harry set all of the ingredients to one side in a perfect line of glass beakers and dishes, and lit his burner. He was running behind, he noted: all of the other students were already stirring their simmering cauldrons, and he was just now heating his up. But a glance at the clock told him that he would still have plenty enough time to complete the brew. As he waited for the cauldron to come to temp, he quickly jotted down some notes under his recipe for how he had modified the concoction. Then he brewed.

Brewing potions was both similar to and different from cooking food. The similarity was obvious: apply heat to ingredients, produce useful result. The differences were more interesting. The most obvious difference was that instead of simply timing things correctly – add the onions after the potatoes so they caramelize without burning, or what have you – a potion seemed to tell the brewer what to do. For example, he knew that his slugs were done stewing and it was time to add the nettles when the concoction shifted rather abruptly from just some slugs in hot water, to something that resembled marmalade. Then he knew that the nettles had bonded with the stewed slugs because the brew suddenly shifted from an orange-yellow to a rather lovely dark turquoise, and the consistency changed from a jam-like mess to a thin porridge. Minding his professor's advice, Harry added the powdered fangs slowly and carefully, stopping exactly when the potion had arrived at a magenta hue and began to smell of lemon grass. He still had roughly a quarter of the powdered fangs left, but it was clear to him that he should not use them – the potion was telling him that it was enough. He put out the burner and gently stirred the potion as it thickened again, until it whipped as suddenly and completely as cream when whipped by hand. One by one, but not too slowly, he dropped in the porcupine quills, each one liquefying the solution again where it landed, and slowly stirred it all together until uniform.

He referenced the instructions. Soft brown with a slight hint of green: yes, check. Viscosity similar to olive oil: check, that described it perfectly. The smell of white willow bark when freshly peeled on a sunny afternoon: well, he wasn't sure about all that, but it definitely smelled like a tree.

Harry carefully siphoned the potion into three vials, stoppering and carefully labeling each, and sighed. He had, he realized, been in some kind of trance throughout the entire process. Looking around, he found that he was not the last student to finish up, as he had expected, but rather seemed to be the first. Neville and Justin were just starting over again, having made some error in their first attempt, while Hermione and her partner, Turpin, were just a step behind Harry, doing some final quality checks.

Harry went over to the sinks to dump out the excess potion and clean out his cauldron, then tidied up his station, picked one of the vials, and brought it to the front of the class, where the professor had a rack for the students to turn in their finished potions.

The professor appeared suddenly and plucked the vial out of Harry's hand just as he was about to set it on the rack. He eyed it carefully, turning it over to check the consistency.

"Acceptable work, Potter," the professor said at last, setting the vial in the rack.

"Thank you," Harry said.

"You may leave once you have turned in your solution and cleaned up your station," Professor Snape said to the class at large. "Do be sure to make note of the homework assignment."

After jotting down a few last-minute notes on his brewing method and the homework assignment, Harry waited for Hermione and Turpin to turn in their solution and joined them on their way out.

"Hey," he said. "That was fun, wasn't it? I have your ink bottle."

"Thank you," Turpin said, accepting it and stuffing it into her bag. "See you next time," she added to Hermione before scampering away.

Harry gave his friend a questioning look, but she just shrugged.

"Nice show back there," Terry boot said, appearing behind them in the corridor with his lab partner, a Ravenclaw boy Harry hadn't met yet, and offering Harry a wry grin.

"What show?" Harry asked as the four of them began the long walk back to the surface of the castle.

"Don't act dumb, Potter," the other boy said. "You put Snape in his place."

Harry shook his head, his hands up. "I was just focused on the potion," he said defensively. "I wasn't trying to do anything like that."

"You did though," Hermione said speculatively. "You know, it seemed like Professor Snape was out to get you at first."

"Our new – _celebrity_ ," Terry Boot's lab partner quoted in a rather good impression.

Harry shrugged. "It doesn't matter. People are always going to treat me differently. I just focused on my potion."

"And _altered the recipe_ ," Terry pointed out.

"I didn't alter the recipe," Harry denied. "I just ground the fangs instead of crushing them with the knife. And using a mortar and pestle to crush something is hardly out-of-the-box thinking."

"So _that's_ why," Hermione said in realization. "You know, I checked on how you were doing and you were at the same stage as Lisa and I – and then suddenly you turned in your potion, while our fangs still weren't infused yet."

"Professor Snape did tell me that they would dissolve more quickly that way," Harry said.

" _Far_ more quickly," Terry Boot's lab partner said. "My aunt is a pro brewer so I know a few things. It might seem like a minor thing, but using powdered asp fangs instead of crushed makes the whole recipe _way_ more volatile. If you had added them too quickly, or put in too much, it would have blown up and melted your face off."

"That git," Harry said in realization. "He told me ' _I hope you've compensated for that_ ,' but I didn't realize. What's your name, anyway?"

"Sonny Albright, of the Hampshire Albrights," he said. "Nice to meetcha."

"Nice to meet you. This is Hermione Granger, by the way."

"I can introduce myself, you know," she huffed.

"Pleasure," Sonny said.

"Listen," Hermione muttered. "What can you tell me about that Lisa Turpin?"

Terry shook his head sadly, while Sonny gave a whistle that seemed to say, ' _oh, boy._ '

"What do you want to know about Lisa?" Terry asked cautiously.

"She just seemed so – I don't know … scared?"

"Yeah," Sonny said. "That's about accurate. But look, it's not our place to tell you if you don't already know."

"Oh, come off it," Terry said. "It's not like it's a state secret."

"Mate, no," Sonny said firmly. Seeing that Terry was going to argue, he scoffed and said, "Do what you want."

"Hermione," Harry said cautiously. "Maybe there's a reason."

"Look, it's not a state secret," Terry repeated. "But er – maybe let me tell you in private."

The two Hufflepuffs and two Ravenclaws ducked into an empty classroom near where the central dungeon corridor connected to the entrance hall. "Shit," Terry said, plopping down on the cold stone floor. "It's not a nice story."

"Look, if you don't want to tell us, that's fine," Harry said.

"Be quiet, Harry," Hermione said.

Terry laughed humorlessly. "Well, the thing about Lisa Turpin is, she's traumatized, you know? The story is like this. Her mum was real old blood – like, hundreds of generations – but she fell in love with this muggle. And, the political climate being what it was, her family, the Skidborns, disinherited her, and all that. But Lisa's mum, whose name I think was Margaret, and that muggle husband of hers were happy, and they had a bunch of kids. Lisa was the youngest of, I don't know, five or so kids. Anyway, one day the Death Eaters showed up on their doorstep, and they butchered the entire family, mum, pop, and all the kids, all except Lisa. I guess it was an oversight, or maybe they just wanted her to suffer.

"After that, Lisa was sent to live with her closest family – her mum's parents. But her grandpa is famous for being a bit senile and not very nice. Nobody can really say what went on in that household, you know, but Lisa's grandpa is a hardline conservative. Just last year he tried to pass a bill in the Wizengamot that would prohibit muggleborns from working at the Ministry at all. The bill failed, it had no chance of passing, but that's the kind of guy Lisa's grandpa is. Anyway, her being a halfblood, and the daughter of the family's white raven, and with that muggle's last name ... people speculate that they probably don't treat her right. Of course, there's no proof of any wrong doing, but just looking at Lisa now..."

"That's horrible," Hermione said, covering her mouth in shock.

"The Skidborns aren't good people," Sonny said. "But look, don't go treating her any differently. It'll just make her feel worse."

"I mean, that's the conclusion we've all sort of come to," Terry said. "Just pretend we don't know about all that, and not talk about it when she's around. But everyone knows. The whole thing is well-known."

"It's really horrible," Hermione said again.

"There's a lot of stories like that," Sonny said. "A lot of families were totally wiped out during the war. Everyone lost at least someone. Our whole society is traumatized, if you look at it."

Harry thought about Neville's story, then. It was so very similar to Lisa's story, really, except that Neville went to live with a grandmother that wasn't horrible. And of course it was similar to Harry's own story, too.

"Fucking Voldemort," he muttered.

Terry jumped in shock. Sonny stared at Harry in outrage and confusion and said, "Where do you get off?"

"Sorry," Harry said. Of course, he knew enough about this society to know that speaking the name of Voldemort, the guy who had in Terry's words traumatized the society, was a taboo. "I guess I should call him 'You-Fucking-Know-Who-I-Mean.'"

"That's hardly any better," Hermione chastised as the Ravenclaw boys had to laugh in spite of their previous outrage.

"Look," Harry said. "I wanted to ask you what you meant back in transfiguration class."

"Oh, that," Terry said. "What was it I said, again?"

"It was only a few hours ago," Hermione pointed out. "Don't you remember?"

"Remind me."

"You said, 'it's inevitable that you cause a stir, being who you are,'" Harry quoted.

"Oh, that's right, I said something like that, didn't I? Look it's not a super cryptic statement, is it?"

"Pretend I'm an idiot."

"All right. Look, I'm a halfblood. My dad is a muggleborn, I mean. Anyway, he makes sure we know about the muggle side of things in my house. We have a TV, and things like that. So when I heard about you in the muggle world, I had to wonder if it could possibly be the same kid. I mean, what are the odds? But it was true. That Harry Potter on TV really is the same Harry Potter."

"What's the point?" Harry asked.

"Well, on the wizarding side of things, you're this miracle kid. I mean, your forehead has killing curse reflecting properties? It's crazy, but there you have it. So you're this miracle kid. But over in the muggle world, you made a splash not with your weird forehead, but with that thing behind it. Your brain, right? So now people have to wonder about you all over again. Maybe it wasn't just a freak accident – maybe you're some kind of, I don't know..."

"Some kind of fucking messiah or something," Sonny finished.

Harry choked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I wasn't the only one that doubted that those two Harry Potters could possibly be the same guy," Terry said. "But now that people know that it really is the same guy, the expectations people have for you are going to go up tenfold. At least. And you already were the savior."

"That's fine," Harry said. "I don't care what people expect."

"Well, you should, Harry!" Hermione burst out.

"Seriously, mate, you have no idea," Sonny said. "People are going to be watching to _so_ closely. And there are going to be people who want to tear you down. You have a target on your back the size of a planet."

The four were quiet as Harry let the enormity of his situation and responsibility settle over him. "Damn it," Harry said. "I can't make any mistakes, can I?"

"You better not," Terry agreed. "There's no room for error."

"Harry, you just have to keep doing what you're doing already," Hermione said. "Excelling at every subject, and being nice to everyone."

Harry blinked owlishly at her. "Right. Easy enough," he said. "I've just got to blow everyone's minds, every single day, for the rest of my life."

"And you'll be needing a pair of eyes on the back of your head, too," Terry said, standing up. "Anyway, about Lisa … don't tell her I said anything, please."

"Well. Cheers," Sonny said. They left.

"The thing is," Harry said after a while. "I'm bound to disappoint them sooner or later."

"Maybe," Hermione agreed. "I mean, nobody is perfect. Even the messiah."

They both laughed, but a weight had settled in Harry's stomach. "Back in the muggle world, nobody expected anything of me," he said. "I mean, people mostly ignored me. So anything I did, I exceeded their wildest expectations. But here, it's different. If I don't solve everyone's problems, they'll be disappointed."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione said, hugging him. It might have been the first time he'd ever been hugged, at least since he was a baby. Harry stifled his instinct to stiffen up, and returned the hug. He thought back to the day before, when he had found her on the train and wanted to hug her. Why hadn't he?

"For what it's worth," Hermione said as she pulled away, her eyes glassy but smiling, "I'll be there to help you. And so will Neville, and the others."

Harry smiled at her, but the weight in his stomach seemed even heavier, then. Hermione's promise to help him was well-meant, but it seemed like another responsibility, too. If people were trying to help him, and he still failed, it might hurt them too. "Thanks," he said. "Do you want to check out the school library?"

Hermione's eyes lit up in excitement. "I've read all about it in _Hogwarts: A History,_ " she said. "Did you know..."

After about an hour of wandering the castle, they even managed to find the library. And for Harry and Hermione it was like an amusement park of ideas. The Hogwarts Library was a truly massive repository of books and scrolls. The collection was truly impressive, stocking tomes dating back to the Dark Ages (or copies of them, anyway) sharing shelf space with editions printed earlier that year. The Library itself was actually split over three floors. First was the central floor, where most of the regular books people would need for their classes were: charms, transfiguration, potions, and so forth. The central floor also contained the library's literature section, which was a bit dated but contained all of the classic works of British and European prose and poetry. Next was the bottom floor, which the library had been expanded into in 1243 by Headmaster Humfrey Wiggnaft, who, according to Hermione's reading of _Hogwarts: A History,_ blasted a hole in the floor in a fit of anger, and then put in a staircase when he realized what a brilliant idea it was to expand the library. The bottom floor contained sections for more esoteric branches of magic that were not on the curriculum, as well as books on foreign languages, maths, and other subjects that were not strictly magical but that any respectable school had to have, as well as references like dictionaries, genealogies, law books and so forth. The bottom floor also held a collection of old newspapers going back to before the Statute of Secrecy, uninterrupted except for March of 1716, the records of which had been destroyed by a student who had apparently thought that it was a particularly bad month for personal reasons. Finally there was the top floor, which actually consisted of a sort of loft overhanging half of the central floor, and which was also known as the Restricted Section because it required special permission to enter. Of course, they did not have said permission, but supposedly it contained books considered too dangerous for any random eleven-year-old to read, although all of the true Dark Arts books had been removed from the library altogether before the end of the nineteenth century.

"So," Harry said, surveying the bottom floor after they had completed their self-guided tour. "What's our first extra-curricular project?"

* * *

Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story so far! I really appreciate your supportive words, and your constructive criticism and suggestions have given me a lot to think about.

Some notes:

About the computer thing. So a lot of people were interested to see how Harry would get a computer to work at Hogwarts. Well, he probably will do that at some point, and the idea is already in the back of his head, but it isn't a priority. Computers were just a thing to pass the time for Harry to begin with – an outlet for his creative energy, and his compulsion to fix and improve everything around him. Computers will come back into the story, but for now he's using his background for other things: to help navigate the infinite complexity of social life, and to improve his spellwork and potions by thinking about magic more in a more procedural, organized way than your average witch or wizard might. Tinkering with computers will come back into the story, but for now Harry's busy tinkering with humans and magic.

As you might have noticed, Harry's question at the end of the chapter is just as much directed at you, the audience, as Hermione. What shall we study?

The story's rating has been changed to T on account of Bad Words


	4. Chapter 4

The Tinkerer

Chapter 4

After a great deal of careful consideration, the Hufflepuff duo of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger decided that they could not decide on any one thing. Therefore, they began to make a 'hit list,' in Harry's words, or what Hermione referred to as their Extra-curricular Curriculum.

It was the product of several hours of argument, rebuttal, concession and compromise.

Hermione had wanted to study a foreign language right away.

Harry had said that everyone else in the world is learning English, anyway.

Hermione had said that that simply wasn't true, and anyway it was very narrow-minded.

Harry had said that that wasn't a serious point, but really, why did they need another language?

Hermione had pointed out that, as great as the Hogwarts Library seemed to be, it had one obvious flaw, which was that all of the books were in English.

Harry had said that that wasn't a flaw.

Hermione had said that actually it was: only a very few of the books were in translation.

Harry had stared blankly.

In other words, Hermione had pointed out, the knowledge of the library really just represented the knowledge of Britain and _if they were lucky_ the colonies. If they wanted a truly wide breadth of knowledge, they would need to learn other languages, since foreign books, even ones of great importance, were rarely translated in the wizarding world.

"Okay," Harry said, thinking the problem over. "If we want to learn the language which will increase our breadth the most by learning it, we must learn a language which has the following features: First, it should be a language that people still use, although it's not terrible if it's a dead language. Italian or Hindi, being living languages, have a massive benefit over dead languages like Latin or Sanskrit: you can actually go somewhere and find people to talk to in those languages. They can help you order food and find the bathroom and things, in addition to reading spellbooks. Even so, the dead languages like Latin and Sanskrit which people still _know_ are better than dead languages like Minoan, which absolutely nobody can speak.

"Second, it should also be a language with a very long written tradition, preferably with minimal revisionism. A language that people first put to pen one thousand years ago will have much less breadth, in terms of time, than a language that was first put to pen three thousand years ago. Latin and Sanskrit are dead languages, and, being dead, they never change, which overcomes one of the major shortcomings of learning a modern living language. If we were to learn modern Italian, we would need to learn it all over again to read something written before Italian was standardized, whereas if it's written in Latin then there's much less variation over time.

"Third, if we want to expand our breadth of _area_ the most, then we should pick a language which is from a distant region of the planet. Something spoken somewhere very far away will presumably get us much less overlap, in terms of what kinds of things people are writing about, than something closer to home. So for example, Latin would be less useful than Sanskrit because a lot of what's written in Latin is also available in English, while the same is not true of Sanskrit."

"Okay," Hermione said. "You mentioned Latin and Sanskrit. Out of those two, Sanskrit would be better than Latin because it better fulfills the third criterion."

"That's true," Harry said, smiling as he watched Hermione write down LATIN, SANSKRIT and then immediately cross out LATIN. "However, there is a language I was thinking of that offers even greater breadth of area than Sanskrit. Let's learn Chinese."

"Chinese?" Hermione said, surprised. "Yes! Of course. Chinese is a living language with a huge breadth of time and area. Plus, many other cultures have made use of Chinese characters, either today or in the past, so that increases its breadth even more. It's ideally suited." She wrote CHINESE and then circled it. "But Harry, Chinese is not an easy language to just dive into like French, or even Sanskrit would be much easier."

"Ease of learning was not one of the criteria," Harry dismissed. "I am not interested in getting the most bang for my buck. I want the most bang, period, and I'm willing to spend the extra buck."

So, _Learn Chinese_ was jotted down as the first bounty on their hit list. (Or the first item on the agenda, in Hermione's killjoy phrasing which Harry disapproved of severely.)

"There's forty-two weeks of school per year at Hogwarts," Harry said. "So, if we allot ourselves six hours per week to study Chinese, that's just about two hundred and fifty hours per school year, plus whatever we do during breaks."

Hermione nodded. "Within three years or so, we should be at the upper-intermediate level," she said. "At which point we'll probably be ready to start learning Chinese magic, as opposed to the Chinese language."

"Right. Let's see what we have to work with."

There were no Chinese books in the little Foreign Languages section. There was Latin, Greek, Aramaic, Egyptian, Babylonian, French, German, Spanish, Italian, Russian, Hungarian, Bulgarian, Dutch, Swedish, Arabic, Turkish, and several others, but there was no Chinese at all.

"Well, that's no problem," Harry said. "We'll just have to order some. I have a Flourish and Blotts catalog."

They had not meant to start today, anyway. Today was a planning day.

"This will leave us plenty of time for another subject or project," Harry said. "I think I have one in mind, too."

"Oh?"

"Think of it as _Advanced Muggle Studies_ ," he said. "Muggle Studies for Muggleborns."

"All right, Harry. And what, pray, does Advanced Muggle Studies consist of?"

"I want to understand why magic interferes with electricity. More to the point, I want to overcome that weakness."

Hermione nodded slowly. "It would definitely be interesting to know," she said. "The problem is that experimenting with magic on muggle devices is basically under a blanket prohibition. Only people with a special license are allowed to do it, and I'm sure they won't license a couple of First Years."

Harry frowned. He hadn't known that. But then he thought the problem over in a different way, and said, "That's fine. We'll just be experimenting with Ministry approved modified artifacts, and never with pure muggle artifacts. That should be perfectly above board, correct?"

"In theory, I think so. But it's a bit of a gray area... I don't want to get into legal trouble, Harry!"

Harry had to agree, although he felt frustrated. "Yeah, you're right. Considering who I am, a legal gray area might be a very dangerous place to be."

"I'd rather study something that won't get us in trouble," Hermione said. "Like, I dunno, enchanting."

"What is enchanting, anyway?"

"Well, basically an enchantment is similar to a charm, except that once it's placed on an object it becomes a permanent part of that object, and the magic affects things around the object. For example, there's a charm that makes someone invisible, called the Disillusionment Charm, but it's also possible to enchant a cloak to grant invisibility. The benefit is that, if done correctly, the spell will never wear out, and the person who uses it does not need to know the Disillusionment Charm, they only need to know how to clasp a cloak. The other advantage to enchanting is that it's possible to grant an item a great number of properties – although this increases the complexity hugely. So – and, this is a made-up example, I don't know if it would work – it should be possible to enchant a cloak to grant invisibility _and_ , say, resistance to fire. Now you have a single piece of cloth that you just throw over your shoulder and it provides the equivalent of a Fire-Freezing Charm _and_ a Disillusionment Charm. The main downside with an enchanted item is that it can be destroyed, and then you're helpless. So, if the cloak gets torn, you're now visible and vulnerable to fire. Another downside is that it takes a great amount of time to enchant an item. Modern broomsticks can take several weeks each, and those broom companies have some of the best enchanters in the world working for them. And that's not even considering the amount of time it takes to research and develop a new broomstick model."

"That explains the price," Harry said, remembering the broomsticks he had seen for sale in Diagon. "Some of the higher-end models were running for over a thousand galleons. I still haven't really got a feel for what wizarding money is worth, but that's a lot."

"That could be considered an additional benefit to enchanting," Hermione explained. "Once you make a truly superior item, people will pay a lot of money for it. Those thousand-galleon broomsticks started their lives as a stick of wood and some twigs – kindling, at best. Once the enchanters have turned them into a top-of-the-line broomstick, however – well, it's like conjuring gold."

Harry nodded. "With the exchange rates those goblins provide, you could probably use some conjured gold," he said.

Hermione blushed. "Well," she said. "It wouldn't hurt."

"I already considered running my own money-changing racket and undercutting the goblins," Harry admitted. "Obviously, people can't just do that. It's very, very illegal for anyone other than the goblins to change muggle money. It's a violation of the treaty, which makes it treason, which makes it a very bad idea. It might be possible to set up something overseas, I suppose, but that's another gray area.

"I like this idea better, anyway," he concluded. "Let's make something that blows everyone's minds and drains their vaults." Really, money was no issue to Harry (at least in the short term), but making money doing something you like is not a bad thing at all, and this enchanting sounded like something that he could really get into. It was the magical study of making gadgets – a study practically tailor-made for his interests, except for the minor flaw that enchanting was _not_ the method used to convert muggle gadgets. Of course, as he thought about the problem, it began to seem like converting muggle gadgets to working around electricity was little more than a niche market, while enchanting had far more possibilities.

The library, it turned out, had a _lot_ of resources on enchanting. Although it wasn't a subject the school offered, it was far from obscure or esoteric, and the library's enchanting collection even dwarfed the alchemy collection, standing alone as probably the most well-covered subject that wasn't actually offered. There were so many books that it took them a great deal of time to decide where to begin. They ended up picking four introductory books and then, since there was only one copy of each, scheduling who would read which and in what order, so that they would both have all four read by Thursday after next, if they didn't fall behind (sixteen days from tomorrow, which is when they planned to start studying, gave them four days per book, which seemed very manageable). They wanted to have all four read before they ever picked up a wand, then get together and go over everything they had read, and then start doing some enchanting. This approach they hoped would maximize their safety and chance of success while minimizing the resources they consumed (because failed enchantments could get expensive quickly, since many materials could not be reused). It was also necessary to postpone starting, because they had to mail-order the recommended enchanting supplies (various types of paper, cloth, stone, wood and metal, as well as gloves, etching knives, sewing kits and a variety of thread, special inks, brushes and pens, a certain cleansing potion, an adhesive potion, pliers, a vice, and specially-varnished magically inert oak or cedar workboards), which could take some time.

Back in the Hufflepuff Common Room's quiet study area, they went over Harry's Flourish and Blott's catalog, and selected a number of textbooks on the Chinese language – after some deliberation deciding not to buy any books on enchanting, since the Hogwarts Library had more than they could read in several years, and they would have a much better idea of what they wanted to buy once they had gone through everything that they already had access to. Once they had decided which books to buy, Harry drafted the following letter:

 _Dear Mr. Fitzgerald-Fitzpatrick,_

 _I would like to place an order for delivery by mail of the following books:_

 _Two copies of 43-QZNG-3754, Mandarin Made Managable Magically_

 _Two copies of 43-QZNG-1241, An Introduction to the Chinese Language_

 _Two copies of 43-QZNG-2740, The Chinese Character Reference Book_

 _Please find enclosed the sum of twenty-four galleons, which should cover the expense of the books and shipping._

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _Harry J. Potter_

 _Hogwarts Student_

Furthermore, he also drafted a letter for the premier enchanting supply store on the alley, requesting a quote for two complete sets of the basic supplies they would be requiring.

"I will pay you back for all of this," Hermione muttered after she had come to terms with just how much money Harry was preparing to spend.

"Of course," Harry said. "This is an investment."

By the time they finished the two letters, they were already late for dinner, so they rushed over to the Great Hall to join the daily demi-feast that was supper at Hogwarts.

"You're late! _Again!_ " Hannah chastized, the last part directed just at Harry.

"Sorry," he said. "We were working on a project and we lost track of time."

"Never mind that. Hurry up and eat."

They needn't have bothered hurrying, however. Apparently, while breakfast and lunch only lasted an hour, dinner was available for two solid hours. Nor were Harry and Hermione the last people to show up – in fact there was a steady amount of traffic going both in and out.

"Where have you been all day, anyway?" Susan asked them.

"The library," they both said.

"Should have known," Susan said in an imitation of longsuffering, unable to hide a slight grin as she looked between the two. "You two are going to put Ravenclaw to shame, aren't you?"

"That's the general idea," Harry said matter-of-factly, slicing an entire brisket into cubes, then dumping mashed potatoes and gravy over the whole thing. "It's all part of our devious plot to undermind the House system and incite a revolution."

"He's kidding," Hermione said, glaring at him. "However, we _do_ plan to be the top students of the year."

The other Hufflepuff firsties exchanged amused looks.

"What did you all do after potions class?" Harry asked.

"We all went to check out the lake," Justin said. "Did you know that there's a giant squid? And mermaids. _Mermaids_ , mate."

Harry had to admit that that was pretty fascinating.

"We found a nice place to do our assignments," Cerie added. "There's a little courtyard between the lake and the Quidditch pitch. It's really nice."

"We'll have to check that out some time," Harry said. Studying outside definitely did sound pretty nice, and it was almost an obligation to soak up a few more rays of sunshine before the Scottish winter set in.

There was a bit of a commotion as Cedric Diggory and Haleigh Copperbell entered the great hall, and a pair of twins at the Gryffindor table began loudly singing the tune to the Bridal March. Cedric responded by transfiguring one of the twins' robes into a wedding gown, to the delight of everyone, until Professor McGonagall appeared and deducted five points from Hufflepuff for "a magnificent transfiguration done outside of class."

"By the way," Ernie said to Harry. "That was legendary, back in potions class."

"I was just focusing on my potion," Harry said once again.

Ernie, Justin and Wayne all started cracking up. Neville looked more serious, and said with obvious discomfort, "His face, after you left..."

"What about his face?" Harry said.

"It was pretty priceless," Hannah gushed. "After you left the classroom, he just scowled at the door for about a minute."

"Longer," Ernie amended.

"It was really creepy," Cerie said. "He was practically like a statue."

"More like a gargoyle," Wayne put in.

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I wasn't trying to make a spectacle," he said weakly.

"It was more Professor Snape that made a spectacle," Cerie said. "I mean, all you really did was make a good potion, despite being handicapped like that."

"And answer his questions," Neville added. "It was like he had it out for you from the word go, with those questions of his."

Harry was getting quite sick of talking about himself and his apparently epic first day at school. "I have an idea," he said. "Why don't we all go back to the Common Room and introduce ourselves a bit more thoroughly."

This was a generally agreeable suggestion, so, since they were all done eating, they made their way back to the Common Room and settled in on some couches by the Central Hearth.

"Who's first?" Harry said. Since it had been his idea, and since the rest of the Hufflepuffs weren't one hundred percent sure what was going on, they volunteered him to go first. "Okay, then. Well. I'm Harry Potter. My birthday is July 31st, so that makes me a Leo. I grew up mostly in Little Whinging, Surrey, which is a pretty boring muggle suburb. Recently we moved to London, though, and London is awesome. I'm really close to an underground station, so I can go anywhere I want. My interests include tinkering with stuff, especially electronics. I just like taking things apart and putting them back together. I dunno. I'm also pretty good with computers. Oh, and I didn't know anything about the magical world until June."

Everyone sort of just stared at him. "You left out a few bits, mate," Ernie said.

"I left out the parts you already know," Harry defended.

"I don't know anything," Justin said smugly. "Let's hear it."

Harry gave Justin a scowl that broke into a smile after a moment. "Fine. Also, I defeated the Dark Lord when I was a baby, and I made millions off a computer program I designed. Happy?"

"Oh, wow, I never knew that," Justin said innocently. "How interesting."

"Whatever. Okay, let's go around clockwise?"

Everyone found that agreeable except for Neville, who was sitting immediately to Harry's left, but he didn't really have much choice in the matter. Democracy was a bitch sometimes. "All right," he relented. "Well. My name is Neville Longbottom. My birthday is July 30th, so I'm a Leo too –"

"I detect a double birthday coming on," Hannah said, earning a few laughs.

"And, let's see. I'm interested in herbology, mostly. I just really like gardening. And also, I was raised by my gran. And my great uncle Algie is on the Wizengamot."

"Okay, I'm next!" Hannah Abbott piped up. "I'm Hannah and my birthday is December 14th, which means I'm a Sagittarius. I'm really into Quidditch. My team is Puddlemere United, as you can tell from my socks." She lifted up her robes enough to show off her maroon socks. "I'm also really into the Weird Sisters! My dad is a defensive charms freelancer. He does wards and stuff like that. I've always thought it was really cool, so I think I'll do that after I graduate, too. And my best friend is Susan Bones!"

Harry filed away the fact that she didn't mention her mum. Another war story, probably.

Next came the very shy black-haired girl to her left. "Hi. I'm Megan Jones. I'm a muggleborn so I only learned about all this last summer. It's all really exciting, but I don't have any idea what I want to do when I grow up. My parents are both faculty at St. Andrews." Seeing a few blank looks, she added, "That's a muggle university."

She seemed like she was done, but Hannah pointed out that she had forgotten her birthday. "Oh! February 17th. That's Aquarius."

Hermione was next. "My name is Hermione Granger," she said somewhat more formally than the others. "And my birthday is September 19th, 1979."

"That's so soon!" Hannah said.

"Yes," Hermione acknowledged. "Which makes me a Virgo. I'm also a muggleborn, and I grew up in Croydon. My parents are both dentists, which is a healer that specializes in teeth. I haven't yet decided what I want to do when I'm done with school. There are so many things to consider, including many factors that aren't even on my radar yet at this stage. That being the case, I intend to study everything that the school has to offer in order to give myself the widest range of possible choices."

Hermione ended her introduction there, but Cerie said, "What about your hobbies?"

"Reading," she answered promptly. The other Hufflepuffs had to laugh.

There was a slight bit of confusion about who was supposed to go after Hermione, since Wayne, who had been sitting next to her, had gotten up to add some more wood to the hearth.

"My turn?" he asked from where he squatted in front of the fire. "Okay," he said, now standing. He seemed to consider sitting back down next to Hermione before giving his introduction, then decided that he could stand up and do it. "I'm Wayne Hopkins," he said. "Birthday the 7th of May. Dunno what my sign is –"

"Taurus," Hannah, Cerie and Megan supplied.

"Taurus, then. I'm a muggleborn, too. So, well, this isn't where I expected to be. But I really like it so far. I mean, magic. Wow."

Wayne trailed off. Apparently he forgot what else he was meant to say. "Hobbies and interests," Hannah reminded him facilitatingly.

"Right. Well, I like football." That said, Wayne went back to poking the fire.

After a moment to make sure Wayne was really done, the next person started. "Okay, my turn. I'm Cerie Runcorn. My birthday is eleven-eleven. I have three older brothers and an older sister, but we're all really far apart. My sister is a sixth year and my brothers all graduated already. Two of them went to work in the Ministry like my dad. The other one moved to America. Um, my interests are … I like to play piano, and I like drawing."

"An artist!" Hannah said appreciatively.

"Hardly," Cerie said, blushing. "I'm not any good. Okay, you're next."

"Okay. I'm actually kind of nervous. Okay, hi, I'm Susan."

"Hi, Susan!" Harry said, waving.

"Shut up," she said with a scowl as the others laughed. She cracked a smile, too, and went on: "My birthday is the 2nd of August. I don't know what that makes me –"

"Another Leo!"

"Okay, Leo. Fine. I was raised by my aunt, who's kind of a bigshot at the Ministry actually."

"My dad is in love with Susan's aunt," Hannah interjected.

"That's true," Susan said. "He is. Anyway. I want to become an Auror. My family's produced tons of Aurors over the years and I'm not going to let that end with me."

"What about your hobbies?" Cerie asked.

"I don't have any hobbies," Susan said quickly.

"Liar!" Hannah yelled, throwing a cushion which missed Susan completely and hit Ernie in the face.

"Fine," Susan admitted. "I like birds a lot, so I'm always building birdhouses."

"She's a bird _freak_ ," Hannah disclosed, leaning in conspiratorially. "She has chickens and owls of course. But then she's also got peacocks, crows, ostriches, parrots, toucans, I don't even know what else. She has these really tiny ones that just go _peep peep peep._ Plus her whole yard is covered in bird feeders. It's kind of insane, actually."

"Thank you, Hannah," Susan said calmly. "Ernie?"

Ernie straightened his Hufflepuff tie and said, "Ernie Macmillan, age eleven. Birthday: February 9th, 1980. Aquarius. Interests: restoring the honor of my family. That is all."

"Oh, get over it already!" Hannah exclaimed.

"I'll never get over it!" Ernie said, crossing his arms.

"Er?" Harry said. Half of the Hufflepuffs were looking around, confused, while the other half were either exasperated or amused.

"Ernie's great uncle got passed up for Minister for Magic," Hannah explained. "He was supposed to be a shoe-in, but then Fudge came out of nowhere with Lucius Malfoy _and_ Albus Dumbledore supporting him."

"I see," Harry said, although it was obvious to him that it was a very complicated issue.

"I'm also into the Weird Sisters," Ernie added after an extended pause. "You're next, Justin."

"All right, saving the best for last," Justin said with a grin. "Justin Finch-Fletchy here. I'm so muggleborn that I almost shat myself when those ghosts turned up last night."

"Gross!" all of the girls said.

"I said _almost_. I'm from outside of Liverpool. My dad does real estate and my mom works in an accounting office. I've got two older brothers and they're wizards, too, but they didn't get invited to Hogwarts. They're both at Helsing Academy. Hobbies? I don't really have anything, just hanging around friends, playing some games or whatever. I like going to the coast."

"All right, that was fun!" Hannah said.

Harry, for is part, had been making sure to update all of the little mental profiles he had on all of the other Puffs as they gave their intros. Truly, he had way more information on them than he had before – although he hadn't learned anything new about Hermione and Neville. There were, however, several gaps which he would still need to fill in: Justin hadn't mentioned his birthday, while Ernie and Wayne hadn't said anything about their parents (although Harry had tidbits about Ernie's great uncle). Cerie and Hannah had mentioned their fathers but not their mothers. Megan hadn't said what her interests and hobbies are, while Wayne's answer of 'I like football' could be expanded upon.

Still, despite these gaps, he did have a lot more information than he had had ten minutes before, so he did consider it a success. Especially considering the amount of information that the Puffs had given him about their respective personalities, which had all shone through under the complete attention of the other Puffs. He could, for instance, have placed each of them on a spectrum of shyness, with Megan being the shiest and Hannah being the least shy. Harry was a wildcard, because he was naturally quite shy but had decided the night before to stop acting shy. The shyness spectrum alone could be extremely useful: he would need to exert more effort to get to know those who were more on the shy side, and of course Harry wanted to get to know all of his Housemates. Furthermore, he could anticipate that those who are less shy would be more likely to take on leadership roles within their group, since they would naturally be the ones directing the flow of most conversations, as well as the ones most apt to suggest an activity.

He could also sort the Puffs by who had been affected the most in the war, with himself sharing the 'most affected' position with Susan and Neville, with the muggleborns on the opposite side of the spectrum as completely unaffected. That information could be used to determine the basis of each individual's political beliefs, among other things. He also knew who were muggleborns, and who were more familiar with the wizarding world: Hermione, Wayne, Justin, and Megan had all only learned about magic a few months ago, while Susan, Hannah, Ernie, Cerie, and Neville had grown up with it. That information would determine who would be asking questions, and who would be answering them. Harry again was an oddity in that area, since by all rights he _should_ have grown up knowing about magic, but due to circumstances was raised like a muggleborn instead. Moreover, since the expectations other people had of him would require him to _act_ informed, even if he didn't actually have any background information, the pressure was on him to get up to speed more quickly than the true muggleborns, so that he could stop asking questions, and start providing solutions, sooner.

Of course, in addition to the information that the introductions had just provided, Harry could add a few other kernels of useful information that he had gathered over the course of the day. Ernie, for example, Harry knew to sometimes have trouble sleeping, just like Harry himself had. Harry also knew that Ernie had at least one older sister, since he had mentioned her at lunch. Sure, those tidbits alone didn't add up to much, but as Harry continued to accumulate them, they would surely add up to very detailed profiles indeed. Looking at himself, he wasn't precisely sure why he wanted to gather and organize information in this way. He had no specific purpose in mind, other than his sincere desire to get to know them. He just thought that it might eventually be useful to know the strengths and weaknesses of each of the other Puffs like the back of his hand.

"I feel like I know all of you so much better already," Harry said with a grin, trying to be a _bit_ cheesy but not _too_ cheesy. Cheese was a topping, not a dish. Looking around at their mostly innocent faces, Harry felt a bit like a wolf in sheep's clothing, but he was a _good_ wolf, more like a sheepdog really, since he was determined to help these people.

His slightly cheesy grin seemed to have more or less the effect desired. Ernie snorted and rolled his eyes in what Harry could already classify as a classic Ernie move, but Justin, Hannah, Susan, Cerie and Hermione grinned back, and the others all looked pretty happy, too.

"Harry and I are going to learn enchanting!" Hermione disclosed happily. "It's going to be ever so interesting!"

"That's amazing!" Hannah said with a great amount of enthusiasm. "Enchanting is divine!"

"We're going to be approaching it rigorously," Harry said.

Hermione nodded energetically. "Does anyone want to join us?"

"What is enchanting, though?" Justin asked.

"Basically," Harry said, "It's how you make magical tools. There's all kinds of applications."

"It's ever so fascinating and useful," Hermione added.

After a bit more discussion, Harry could see that _none_ of the boys were interested in committing to an additional subject, which Hermione explained would likely be more challenging than any of their classes, nor were Hannah or Megan. They all went off to learn how to play Gobstones under Ernie's expert tuteledge instead. However, Cerie and Susan were both interested in joining them. Cerie's mum, it turned out, had been an enchantress (Past perfect tense. Harry made note that she was probably dead. Although Cerie didn't actually say that, the grammar of English had a way of telling you if you were talking about someone who's alive or someone who's dead.) So naturally she was interested in at least seeing what it was all about, and maybe eventually even replicating some of the gizmos her mum had made. Harry and Hermione were all in favor of having a co-conspirator (or fellow student, in Hermione's lame terminology) who had a good background in the field. Susan, on the other hand, was apparently as little afraid of demanding academic work as Harry and Hermione were, and felt that taking on an extra subject could only benefit her, considering that their current classes were far from demanding. So, Hermione made copies of the book and supply lists that they had sketched out earlier, and since there were now four students and four books, she easily made the necessary adjustments for all of them to read the four books by Thursday after next. ("It's okay if you don't read the _whole_ book," Harry said, seeing Cerie's face. "Just read as much as you can.") Hermione of course made sure to extract pinky promises that they would not lose or damage the books, since they were all checked out under her and Harry's names. When Cerie started to display a bit of anxiety over the supplies that they would be needing, Harry quickly intervened, saying, "Fortunately I've already ordered four sets of everything, in case we needed spares," and that put Cerie at ease, and Hermione and Susan were tactful enough not to say anything even though it was a pretty obvious fib. Cerie did mention that there might still be a few supplies in storage at her house, but probably her brother took most of the good stuff with him when he ran off to America, since he was interested in enchanting. Harry made a mental note to definitely ask Cerie more about that brother sometime.

"We're also going to learn Chinese," Hermione said once everything had pretty much been decided.

Susan Bones just started cracking up, while Cerie said, "But isn't that just about the hardest language to learn?"

"Probably," Harry said.

"But you'll never have the time!"

"No, look here," Hermione said. "It's already penciled in. Six hours per week with Chinese, and five and a half hours per week with Enchanting. That adds up to only forty-one and a half hours of studying. Add in approximately half an hour per week of Astronomy and it's only forty-two hours per week. Even when you consider the homework we'll need to do, that's not a particularly demanding schedule."

Harry, who had grown used to spending sometimes up to sixteen hours a day working on his computers, and who would have frankly been quite bored with the six hours of class per day offered by the school, nodded. "It's practically nothing," he said.

Cerie and Susan were not interested in learning Chinese with them. "I've got to see where I'm at with this before I take on any other projects," Susan said politely. "Besides, I'd rather learn German."

"You're both mad," was Cerie's opinion.

"From what I understand," Harry said without concern, "Many great wizards are considered mad."

"Based on my family background, I'm at minimal risk for mental illness," Hermione said with an equal measure of nonconcern.

As it was getting close to curfew, there was no time left in the day to make the trek up to the owlry and actually send off the letters Harry had written earlier, especially considering that they did not actually know how to get to the owlry. (Besides which, he had just told Cerie a few minutes prior that he already ordered the supplies.) That excursion would have to wait until the next day. The group of enchanters-to-be joined with their friends again in the game room, where a rather heated game of billiards was going on with Hannah and Justin just barely leading Ernie and Wayne while Neville and Megan watched enthusiastically. Ernie could get rather competitive in the heat of a game, and he and Justin were exchanging banter that was just barely on the friendly side of outright shit talking. Nonetheless, they all seemed to be having a pretty great time, and the four remaining Puff firsties were happy to get in on the excitement. Hannah and Justin won that match, which predictably enough led to a demand for a rematch, and Harry found himself drafted to Justin's team after Hannah decided that the testosterone level was running a bit too high. After Hannah dragged the other four girls off to do something else, however, things only got rowdier and rowdier as the five boys (Neville swapping for Wayne in the third game) continued playing until well past curfew, and indeed until Algernon Silvestris, a sixth year prefect, told them all to go to bed. Harry felt like the friendly competition-cum-comraderie of the impromptu billiards tournament had done a great deal to help the boys bond, or at least feel more comfortable around each other (in Ernie and Justin's cases, comfortable enough to say some rather obscene things about the other's parentage, morals and hygiene, all in a good sportsmanlike way, of course).

As he washed up and got ready for bed, Harry couldn't help but look back over the day and think that it had been a very successful first day at a new school by any measure of reckoning. He had enjoyed all of his classes (or, in the case of Charms, he could tell that he would enjoy it as soon as they started getting their hands dirty). He had made friends both in his House and in Ravenclaw (because Terry and Sonny were obviously going to be his friends, if they weren't already). And he had created, essentially, two new classes to occupy his time and attention with. After going over the day in his mind and feeling satisfied with it, he turned his attention to the future. There were many things he wanted to do tomorrow, besides just attending his classes. Obviously, he would need to find the owlry to send off his mail. Next, he thought he should look for an opportunity to speak to Draco Malfoy, just to make sure he still had the aristocratic boy's goodwill (because he could imagine how it would be inconvenient not to, and because the boy had honestly piqued his interest). He also had that Potions assignment to do (although it would be very easy), and it wouldn't hurt to start on the Charms assignment, either (even though it wasn't due until Friday). And of course he was obliged by mutual obligation with Hermione, Cerie and Susan to read approximately a quarter of his first enchanting book at some point. Furthermore, he was obliged just for his own longterm viability to continue to seek out any opportunities available to make himself seem as friendly, available, dependable and honorable as he was supposed to be according to the preconceptions people had about him. Truly, he did have quite a bit on his plate for a shy eleven-year-old from the suburbs.

Still, the day was long and he didn't need a lot of sleep. Something which did not prevent him from falling asleep shortly thereafter.

Indeed, when he awoke after a night of unrememberable dreams, Harry found that, quite in contrast to the previous day, he was the first one awake in the dim dawn light. That was far from a problem, though, since his goals did require him to do some private studying, and these early hours would be an ideal time to get started. So, after cleaning up and getting dressed, he made his way down to the Common Room and found a comfortable place around the Hearth to begin to read.

And within minutes, whatever part of him had not been fully committed to studying enchanting was completely sold on the idea. In fact it was all he could do to tear his eyes off the book, even after he had read far more than the quarter of it he was obligated to, when his fellow Puff firsties dragged him off to breakfast.

"I really can't wait to get started," Harry said, his mind aswirl with ideas and plans. "I've already got some good ideas I want to try out."

Hermione grinned. "I know what you mean. I was reading last night, and it's really just fascinating."

"My dad said one time that enchanting was my mum's real spouse, and he was just there to get grandma to stop nagging her about getting married," Cerie said with a smile that was only a tinge sad. "It's was just a joke, of course," she added.

Susan nodded, too. "I'm mostly just in it for the defensive enchantments," she said. "But there really are an incredible amount of applications."

Frankly, Harry could hardly wait the now absurdly long-seeming sixteen days before they were supposed to get underway, and had half a mind to see if he could scrounge up some supplies and get started immediately, rather than continue to torture himself. But of course that sixteen days would give him plenty of time for the most interesting ideas to foment in his mind, meaning that when he got started he would probably have some useful applications right off the bat, instead of wasting his time today on rocks that glow, or whatever. Actually, that gave him an idea.

He engaged in the conversations over breakfast as well as he could, but frankly he was pretty distracted. Fortunately, his easy grin worked just as well whether or not he was paying one hundred percent of his attention to the conversations around him, and somehow he even managed to contribute a few funny comments.

Justin – who apparently refused to look at his schedule, having people around him who already knew it by heart – asked what their first class of the day was, which turned out to be Herbology with the Slytherins.

Neville's face was green. "What's wrong, mate?" Harry asked when he noticed.

"Herbology," Neville said sickly, "is with Slytherin."

Harry puzzled over this for a moment before it came to him. Of course. Neville's favorite class, and he was worried that it would be spoilt by some of his least favorite people. Harry gave a microscopic nod to himself as he saw that the solution was very obvious as soon as the problem was identified, and actually tied together some of his other goals.

"Don't worry about them," Harry said warmly.

Neville seemed about five percent reassured and ninety-five percent still ill. Nor could Harry really say what his plan was, since Neville might object to it. Still, he was certain it would work.

When the Hufflepuffs all got up to go to class, Harry said he had to use the bathroom and to go on ahead. Ernie, for whatever reason, said he'd wait for Harry and waved the others to go ahead. "Why are you waiting for me?" Harry asked once the other eight had started walking away.

Ernie shrugged. "Someone should, I figure."

"You'll be late to class, though," Harry pointed out.

Ernie apparently didn't care. "So will you," he said. "Professor Sprout will be less likely to punish us both, you know."

Ernie's reasoning was questionable, but Harry didn't want to question it because it was clear that Ernie was working with Harry's own best interests in mind. "Thanks, mate. But look, I lied earlier. I don't have to go to the bathroom."

"I know," Ernie said, now smirking.

Now, Harry understood. While what Ernie had said before about them being less likely to get in trouble together was probably true from Ernie's point of view, that was not necessarily the main reason he had decided to stay behind. He had wanted to see what Harry was getting up to, plain and simple. Now, Harry didn't know Ernie very well, he realized, but he did not think that Ernie wanted to see him do something against the rules to get him in trouble, or anything like that. More likely, Ernie just felt that Harry was about to have a bit of excitement, and he wanted to share it. That, Harry could deal with – but unfortunately there was no excitement to be had, since what Harry was getting up to would not be particularly exciting at all. Still, he had to let Ernie see that for himself, otherwise the other Hufflepuff would never believe that he wasn't going off on some wild adventure, and would resent Harry for excluding him.

"So, what's the plan?" Ernie asked slyly.

Harry thought that maybe Ernie had read too many adventure novels, or something. "I've just got to have a chat with Draco Malfoy," he said.

"You really _are_ mad," Ernie said, apparenty impressed.

Now Harry could see what was going through Ernie's mind. Ernie of course assumed that 'having a chat with Draco Malfoy' must have been a euphemism for jinxing Malfoy in some humiliating way, or something like that. That was a train of thought he had to nip in the bud before Ernie started to get happy with his own wand. "I'm just going to ask Draco to make sure the other Slytherins don't mess with Neville."

Ernie's slightly pudgy face went from a devious expression to an expression of frank disbelief in a flash. "That's not a very smart idea, Harry," Ernie said.

"How do you mean?"

"Asking for a favor from Draco Malfoy on the second day of school? You would be humilating yourself. Plus, what if the Slytherins aren't even interesting in messing with Neville? Now you've gone and humiliated yourself, _and_ told them that by hurting Neville they're hurting you."

Harry could see the wisdom in Ernie's words. Actually, just going up to Draco and asking him to be nice to Neville was a pretty bad idea. It stank of social ineptitude. He would look like a complete fool! Harry was embarrassed that that had actually been his plan. Had had been on the verge of committing social suicide.

"So what should I do about it?" he asked.

Ernie shook his head. "For now, there's no problem, is there? Neville is afraid of Malfoy, but Malfoy hasn't actually done anything to him yet. The best thing to do if you want to help Neville would be to tell Neville to grow a pair and stand up straight and stop worrying so much."

It was harsh, but it was probably true. Harry couldn't help Neville before Neville was prepared to help himself. He could try to, but he would fail, and he would hurt himself in the process.

"Right, but what if they _do_ mess with him? Then what do I do?"

"Puffs fight together," Ernie said solidly. "You don't have to do anything on your own."

It was somehow both reassuring and disconcerting. On the one hand, it was good to know that they would _all_ stand up for _any_ of their members that needed the support. But on the other hand, Harry realized that that would take the controls firmly out of his own hands, because he, too, would have to stand by his Housemates, even if they said or did something that wasn't in his personal interests, or something that was harmful to his own reputation.

This, too, was part of the Hogwarts Houses – what McGonagall had called their families while here at Hogwarts. Nobody's family was perfect, but even if they made mistakes, the other family members stood by them and supported them.

It was a warm thought whose realization filled him with deep dread. Suddenly, it seemed to him that he would _not_ be able to make everyone happy, that he would not be able to be friends with everyone at school, a goal which had seemed so vital to him. It was an idea that settled all about him and wrapped around him. As he looked at Ernie's concerned face, it seemed to be growing further and further away and dark even as spots of light appeared in his vision and floated about him like snowflakes without gravity.

He blinked, but it did not help, so he said, "We'll be late," and, abandoning his plan to meet Draco in the Entrance Hall, he exited.

It was a long walk out to the greenhouses, made longer yet by the way they seemed to keep fading in and out of his vision, always somehow moving further away even as they walked in their direction.

"Harry," Ernie said after a while, "Are you okay?"

"I've just got to change my strategy," Harry said. "Although I don't know..." He trailed off – he couldn't share this. Why had he said what he had, and what could he say now? Still, the effort of speaking even that little seemed to help him regain his focus. Even the as the grounds around him grew and grew, every object converging on the infinite pinpoint behind it like the whole world was running away from him, all of it growing darker and darker – somehow still he was able to make some sort of sense of his surroundings. By watching the grass under his feet – it seemed so far away, but it was just there, he was touching it – by watching it flow past him, he was able to. "I've just got to figure out some other way to help Neville," Harry said.

Only as the words passed his lips did he remember that that was his goal.

Light and distances slowly began to make sense again.

As Harry saw Ernie's face turn from concerned to thoughtful – Ernie apparently setting his mind to this problem – Harry was struck by the oddity of being the only being with which he interacted that would never see himself. He wondered what his face looked like, when not seen through a mirror. How did he look to someone walking beside him, as he was walking beside Ernie now?

He felt thirsty and he felt afraid, but they were at the greenhouses now and it was almost time for class.

"Good morning, class!"

Harry said good morning to their teacher along with most of the rest of the class. He had followed Ernie over to a kind of bar, four of which made up the greenhouse. He was sitting in a stool.

He caught Draco Malfoy's eye, and Draco gave him a smile that was both friendly and dignified. He hoped that the expression on his own face was similar. He found Neville across the greenhouse, sitting between Hermione and Susan. Neville seemed more excited than anything, now. Probably, Harry had had no reason to worry after all. It was like Ernie said, Neville was afraid even though nothing had happened yet. Now that they were all in this place where Neville felt comfortable, he did not look afraid.

Harry felt thirsty.

Professor Sprout, who Harry very belatedly learned was his Head of House, set them all to work almost immediately after only giving a brief demonstration. They were meant to graft mushrooms from a small stump to a much larger stump. It was profoundly simple work. Harry wondered what the mushrooms were for – probably, Professor Sprout had told them. He did not know what they were called. They were small things, with orange to reddish-orange caps, and they seemed entirely unremarkable. Harry transplanted them from smaller stumps to larger stumps as well as any of the other students.

The lingering sense of conscious dissonance gradually faded away.

Two hours passed slowly, and Harry's hands got more and more dirty, and a page of notes was filled out: Professor Sprout's few but meaningful words almost all written down verbatim, along with his observations on the mushrooms, and even a rather crude sketch of them.

"I'll be needing a special quill just for this class," he told Ernie. His quill was covered in dirt, the soft down at the base destroyed.

Ernie laughed. "Good luck there," he said. "It looks like you'll be needing a special quill each day."

Professor Sprout came around and commented on their excellent work and delicate touch. Harry was hard-pressed to see how anyone could have done any worse, considering that he had barely even been awake during it. But, looking around, he found that many of the other students had managed to fragment the caps, destroying them, or had simply failed to get them to attach properly to the larger stump, either by not applying enough salve or by failing to get the base to adhere properly.

"You know, I thought you were going to end up in Slytherin." Draco was suddenly standing there, talking to him. The lesson was over, but the scheduled time was not up, so the students were mingling and chatting.

Harry's mouth moved more quickly than his brain. He said, "Obviously, all _real_ Slytherins go into Hufflepuff."

Draco was at a loss.

Ernie blinked a few times, and then he was rigorously straight-faced as he pretended not to listen. Somehow, this behavior seemed a lot like laughing.

Harry favored Draco with a friendly, good-natured half-grin. "Think about it," he said.

Some people, when they have a sudden realization, their eyes widen. For Draco, and people like him, when they have such an epiphany their eyes have a tendency to narrow appreciatively instead. "I can see what you mean," he said, not smirking but his eyes suggesting it.

Harry was glad his mouth seemed to have a pretty clever mind of its own, because his brain was still trying to come up with a working algorithm for the 'social math' involved in this whole situation, and probably wouldn't have a result any time soon.

Having no idea what to say next, he just nodded in what he hoped was a meaningful way, further hoping that Draco would tell him what the meaning was supposed to be. He thought that maybe he should invite Draco to something, or perhaps give Draco some sage advice, or maybe introduce Draco to Ernie, or –

Draco clasped his shoulder in a way that was patronly rather than patronizing, and said, "Let's talk soon," and walked away.

As soon as he was well clear, Ernie muttered appreciatively, "You're a fucking legend."

Harry wanted to let out a great heaving sigh of relief, and possibly break down into hysterical laughter. But instead he just gave Ernie a wink.

It was the first time he had ever given _that significant wink_ to anyone in his life. He wondered, in the back of his mind, if it looked foolish to wink while wearing glasses. He wondered if maybe his right eye had squinted a bit too, or if he was imagining it and it was fine.

Ernie shook his head, eyes shut and lips in a lax smile, in a gesture of contained amusement that bordered on glee.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who has read this story, and a special thanks to those who have reviewed it. I read all of them and they make me happy. =3

* * *

Some notes:

Yes, anxiety strikes again. I realize that for anyone who doesn't have experience with extreme anxiety, my choice to describe in detail, rather than just say "Harry woke up feeling anxious, and then he had a bagel for breakfast" will probably just be confusing. But, well, it is confusing. And no, nothing magical is going on when his senses get bewildering, that's all in his mind.

Also, yes, I realize that at my current rate of two chapters per day in Harry's life, I'll have this story completed sometime in the 2040's. [ **Edit:** **according to one enterprising and mathematically-inclined reviewer, at the current rate this story will not be done until 2077** ] Nothing I can do about that, so just bear with me until then.


	5. Chapter 5

The Tinkerer

Chapter 5

By the time the period was over and they were let out from the greenhouses, Harry felt normal again, and found himself laughing easily with Neville, Ernie, Justin and Wayne as they made their way back up to the castle. As soon as Draco was safely far away, Ernie told a dramatized version of the brief interaction, making it sound as legendary as a few sentences possibly could be. Harry, denying everything but laughing about everything, couldn't help but feel a bit pleased with himself.

"I swear, he looked just like a fish," Ernie said not for the first time, doing a wide-eyed, gaping mouthed impression, and then, in an offensively stupid sounding voice: "Durr, err, I can see what you mean, Harry! Wow, you're so clever, Harry! I wonder if I'll ever think of anything clever."

"Ernie, stop," Harry pleaded, although he was barely not laughing like the rest of the boys.

"Seriously, Macmillan," someone said. "Piss off."

"What was that?" Ernie demanding, swinging around in a flash. The other boys all turned too. It was a boy from Slytherin House who Harry did not know. Ernie looked the boy up and down contemptfully.

"I said," the boy said, now standing very close to the Hufflepuffs, "Why don't you go have a piss upwind?" The boy pushed passed them and continued up to the castle.

Belatedly, after he was already several yards away, Justin yelled, "Why don't you piss off!"

All of the Hufflepuffs knew that that was not a very good comeback. Justin rubbed the back of his head while Ernie seethed. "That bottom-feeding git," he muttered. "Where does he get off?"

"Who was that guy?" Harry asked.

"Nothing but an upstart trying to get some brownie points," Ernie snapped. He straightened his tie and cleared his throat in a gesture that seemed to be how he calmed himself down, and said, "Forget it. We have history next, is that right?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Great. I could use a nap."

Even as Ernie attempted to understate just how calm he now was by sharing with all of the other boys the stories his sister had told him about Professor Binns's dreadfully boring history lectures, and even as tried with what was to Harry obvious deliberateness to lighten the mood further with a number of jokes, it was apparent even to the most unobservant among the Hufflepuffs that his mood had, under the facade, darkened several shades. To the most observant among them, Harry, it was a rather disconcerting display.

Harry found that not only was Binns' slow, droning voice almost hypnotically boring, but also, looking through his textbook, the few bits that he was able to pay attention to long enough to actually hear and process seemed to have no relation to the text (which had printed a new edition only the year prior, unlike Binns who apparently hadn't changed anything in years). In fact, the particular goblin war which Binns was talking about for the entire two hours was summed up in five sentences in the textbook, and in such a way as to imply that it was of little historical significance and was only being mentioned at all for completeness (since the conditions of the treaty that ended the war were identical to the conditions of the treaty that the goblins had broken when they started the war, there was effectively zero impact on society other than for those who may have personally known one of the very few people to die in the fighting). Moreover, oddly enough, Binns seemed almost to be glorifying the _goblin_ actions in the war, waxing on about notable goblin after notable goblin _ad_ _infinitum_. Notable goblins like Emetic the Evil (known for his cruelty towards female goblins, small animals and houseplants) and Bellypus of Pointy Things (who was known for his preference towards killing his enemies by method of thousands of pokes with needles and pointed sticks and things, as well as for the repugnant growth on his stomach which he never covered up even at state ceremonies). Besides glorifying the strategic victories of the goblins (who had seemingly never actually won a rebellion, nor learned to stop trying), the lecture consisted primarily of a seemingly endless string of dates, names of events, and names of the leading participants, without ever really explaining what the event was or why it mattered to anyone. Harry, wanting to at least try to be a good student, did his best to make notes, up until the building annoyance caused him to press too hard on his quill, snapping it. At that point, he just stopped, even though he had plenty more quills.

Harry's history text, on the other hand, _was_ rather informative, although it did not seem to be written with the same level of academic impartialness that (respectable) histories in the muggle world generally aimed for.

Harry saw that Hermione was still diligently taking notes. He felt an incredulous admiration for her work ethic, and then continued to not do his own work.

Unlike the ephemeral professor's metronomically crooning lecture, the textbook placed the most emphasis on wars between humans, with goblins acting as one of many background characters. It was, actually, extremely informative. Harry regretted having never really looked at his history textbook before, except for the part that he was in.

For now he skipped past all of the parts about Merlin and the Founders and the enactment of the Statute. Certainly those sections were replete with invaluable information, but it seemed to him that in dealing with history, it makes more sense to move from the present back, instead of moving from some arbitrary point in time towards the present. This had the advantage of beginning with the present, which one was at least passingly familiar with, and gradually adding more and more changes that added up to the various time periods of study. The main flaw with this approach was that you had to see all of the effects before you learned what had caused them – a flaw which could be overcome by just getting into the spirit of the mystery, turning a history text into a kind of poor man's detective story. Having already read the very last sections, which discussed the war that he had put to an end, which was, worryingly enough, called the Sixth Civil War (while Harry was no great history buff, he was pretty sure that in the muggle world the count was nowhere near six), Harry began to read the book backwards from there (sometimes page-by-page, sometimes sentence-by-sentence and sometimes chapter-by-chapter, because there is no wrong way to read a book backwards, as long as one remembers to insert the phrase, 'and before that' everywhere, so that there was at least some kind of narrative).

The last sentence of the chapter prior to the one in which Harry appeared in the textbook read quite simply, "It appeared that nothing could stop the Dark Lord from victory." As he read back, it soon became quite apparent to Harry how it would seem so. Voldemort had had the Ministry on the ropes for years, seemingly toying with them, picking off their best Aurors and their political leaders at his leisure.

Susan's parents were some of the last victims of this that the textbook named explicitly.

Harry could not help but glance over at her surreptitiously. She was as bored as anyone else in that class, nor, as she doodled birds in a most relaxed manner, did she give off the air of a person broken by the tragedies of recent war. The horrific manner of her parents' public execution-by-torture being such recent news to him, Harry wanted to say something consoling, even though that made little sense. He thought about how, eventually, Susan too would read that part of their textbook that described in grisly detail her parents' murders.

He said, "I like that drawing." It was a crow or a raven. It had something in its beak, but he could not tell what.

She smiled cheerfully. "Thanks!"

After a moment, he asked if it was a crow or a raven.

"It's a crow," she said.

"Do you have crows, at home?"

Susan rested her head on her palm and looked at him playfully. "Why do you ask?" she said.

Harry felt the beginnings of embarrassment. He did not know why. He wondered what to say. She grinned at him, and Harry realized that he was being teased. A realization that did not help him think of anything particularly good to say. "I've always liked crows."

"What do you like about crows, Harry Potter?"

It had not been a lie. He did like crows. But as for why, he had no idea. He racked his mind. It seemed like he did not know any solid facts about crows other than that they were birds and that they were black. "Let me think," he said, and, doing so, tried to remember all the times he had seen crows. "They look out for one another," he realized. "They're always in groups, and they warn each other about things. And then at night, you'll see them all on one particular tree that isn't any different from the other trees except for the hundred crows sitting on it. They're kind of like us Hufflepuffs."

"That … was a very good answer," Susan said. Her smile had lost its teasing edge, and was now just a soft smile. She looked back down at her drawing. He looked back down at his book.

Before that last burst of ungodly brutal, frequently public murderings at the end, the Dark Lord and his minions had not always been so theatrical. Prior to that last year of pure terror, the victims would most often simply disappear, either from work or from a public place or from the person's home, where the Death Eaters would leave their calling card (which was not pictured in the book, nor described), only to reappear as corpses in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley or the Ministry Atrium. Sometimes the corpses would be complete enough to hang up on a wall somewhere, while other times the body parts had had to be piked. Sometimes the corpses would just be thrown into the Floo, like garbage into an incinerator. As he read further back, this strategy seemed to have been the preferred one going back to the very beginnings of the war. Thinking it over, Harry supposed it made sense. Having largescale battles against a well-trained opposing force, like the Aurors, would not have inspired anywhere near the same level of terror in the wizarding folk. Battles like that, both sides would have suffered heavy losses, and there would have been just as many dark wizard corpses as Auror corpses lying around after it was over. It would make the dark wizards seem more human, more vulnerable. But the way that Voldemort had conducted things during most of the war, relying primarily on abductions, meant that Death Eaters almost never left one of their own corpses behind, and the fact that anyone could just disappear one night made them seem much more terrifying: rather than just opposing soldiers, they were like boogeymen. They had their enemies staying up all night, too terrified to sleep, knowing that despite the defenses on their homes, people with better wards than theirs had already been abducted. As a strategy of terror, it was an effective one.

Still, it was also a slow strategy. Voldemort, for all of his powers, and for all of the fear he inspired, never actually managed to take over the government. Despite the textbook's assertion that the Dark Lord had had the government on the ropes, to Harry it looked like he had made precious little actual, measurable progress over his nine year long reign of terror. One man stood in his way: Albus Dumbledore, who was able to single-handedly defend not only Hogwarts, but the Ministry itself. There were accounts of a few duels between the Headmaster and the Dark Lord, and each of them ended with Voldemort fleeing. And, while there were a handful of wizards that could say they survived a direct confrontation with the Dark Lord, Albus Dumbledore stood alone as the only man to fend him off in a one-on-one duel, a feat which he repeated several times. Harry puzzled over the strangeness of this. Why had Voldemort started this war at all, when Albus Dumbledore would never let him win it? Had he thought that his powers were greater, back before he started the war? Or had he thought that at some point during it, he would either grow strong enough to defeat Dumbledore, or perhaps get lucky one day? The more Harry thought about it, the less sense it made. The concept of starting a war without the confidence to win it was unfathomable.

Harry shut his book and puzzled over the self-contradictory information. Two points which had each been stressed by the text were completely at odds with each other. First, it was said that Voldemort was right on the cusp of absolute victory. But second, it also said that Dumbledore alone could and did defend the Ministry and Hogwarts. With those two strongholds secure and beyond Voldemort's means of capturing, by what definition could he be said to be at the cusp of victory? Looking at it this way, the increasingly bold acts of violence and destruction towards the end of the war did not look like the actions of a person who was on the verge of victory, but rather the actions of one who had given up on achieving it and was simply venting their rage. But there was another contradiction too: if Dumbledore alone could not only beat Voldemort in each of their duels, but indeed defend two strongholds on opposite sides of the country _at the same time_ , then why had he lacked the power to simply destroy the dark lord? Harry continued to ruminate over these issues for next twenty minutes or so, but it seemed that he was just going around in circles that led nowhere.

He opened his textbook again and continued to read backwards. Before the Sixth Civil war, there was a period known as the Long Peace, a period of ninety-six years during which magical Britain was not involved in any wars at all, except for putting down a few very minor rebellions in the colonies, events which were considered police actions rather than wars. Britain had remained neutral in Grindelwald's wars on the continent, which between 1906 and 1944 had mired all of Europe, coastal North Africa, Anatolia and the Levant in a seemingly-endless series of struggles that only ever ended in capitulation. So, for thirty-eight of the ninety-six years known as the Long Peace, it was anything but peaceful outside of Great Britain and Ireland (of course on the muggle side of things, Britain had not been neutral in any major conflict). But those wars on the continent, which Britain was not part of, had finally come to an end only when Albus Dumbledore traveled to Austria to meet Grindelwald in single combat. It was a duel for the ages, a duel from which Dumbledore emerged victorious. Grindelwald was not killed, however, but captured and put in Nurmengard Prison, where he remains to this day. Thirty-eight years of war that spanned continents, put to a stop by the whim of Albus Dumbledore. The same man who, three decades or so later, had forced Voldemort to flee in all of their duels. Harry could not understand it. Why had Dumbledore traveled all the way over to Central Europe to put down a war that his country was determined to remain neutral in – an act that could be considered treason, really, since it jeopardized the national policy of neutrality – yet had failed to make any decisive moves in the civil war that waged in his own homeland? Definitely, there were a number of odd things about Dumbledore. As Harry learned more and more about the elder figurehead of his nation, each fact he learned bothered him more. Harry suddenly remembered what his uncle had said: "That man is no simple schoolteacher, Harry. It seems that he led some sort of army against this Dark Volde-thing. An army that your parents were part of." Even Harry's muggle uncle, who had never even personally witnessed any acts of magic to Harry's knowledge, recognized Dumbledore as the leader of a guerilla or vigilante group which stood in opposition against Voldemort (a group who, Harry observed, was not actually mentioned anywhere in his textbook). But, being that Dumbledore was moonlighting as a counter-terrorist vigilante, why did he never try to uproot Voldemort, a wizard he was more powerful than? Perhaps in the thirty or so years between the Grindelwald wars and the Sixth Civil War, Dumbledore had simply lost his touch.

It was odd, he realized suddenly, how personally invested he was in this history text. When he had read books about World War II, or about any of the other wars in history, he had never felt so personally involved in them. Of course, those books had not had his name printed in them, nor did they discuss events that led to his family's deaths. It was interesting also, he thought as he flipped through that final chapter which covered the events he was party to personally, that there was little said about why his parents had been targeted. Of course, it was known to Harry that they were part of Dumbledore's group, and it was apparent that the textbook did not acknowledge the existence of said group, but he would have expected it to at least provide some explanation, even if only speculative.

Looking over the book, while Susan's parents were referenced by name, they were some of the very few that were. They were only reference specifically because they were terribly important people, and because their murders were a convenient marker for the turning point when Voldemort had abandoned all subtlety and restraint. Other than a few specific cases like the Boneses and the Potters, the book was a lot of sweeping claims and general descriptions with very few specific details to be found. Certainly, this book was worth reading, but he was starting to wish he had some better resource material on hand. Remembering that the library had a newspaper archive, he wondered when he would find the time to research it all more thoroughly. He remembered what Neville had said on the train about the terrible fate of his parents: "Well. I guess it's common knowledge for a lot of people. But I've never really talked about it." That kind of common knowledge that people don't usually talk about was _invaluable_ , and Harry figured that if texts written after the dust had settled left most of those personal details out, perhaps the newspapers written during the heat of the conflict, by writers who genuinely feared for their life every day, would not.

By the time the class period was over, a proper study of the history of magic was firmly placed on Harry's hit-list of topics to study. As the Hufflepuffs filed out of the classroom – Ernie and Justin with much yawning and stretching, since they had fallen asleep in uncomfortable positions – Harry remembered about the post he had to send off. Unfortunately, he could not excuse himself to run off to the owlry just then, since it would tip Cerie off to the fact that he had lied about already ordering the supplies. The solution he came up with for this was simple: during lunch he ate quickly while he drafted a brief letter to his aunt and uncle. Using that letter as his reason to head up to the owlry, he told the other Puffs that he'd catch up with him at Defense class and excused himself.

Apparently lunch time on the second day of school was a very popular time to send off letters to family back home. Fortunately, none of his group had any mail to send off, since they had done so the day before while he and Hermione were in the library. Fortunately again, Harry was able to tag along with Algernon Silvestris, the sixth year prefect, so it wouldn't take him forever to find the place. After making the required adjustments to his letter for the enchanting shop, and placing the twenty-four galleons in the envelope for the bookshop (which Algernon charmed to be as light as a feather), Harry sent off his three letters, instructing the owl to deliver the one to the bookshop first, since after all it did contain more than a handful of gold coins. Frankly, his muggle upbringing made it seem quite odd to him to send cash in the mail, and although Algernon reassured him that mail theft was very rare, and that ordering things by mail like this was commonplace, something did not sit right with him about sending off an owl with a pile of gold coins. But apparently this is how things were done in the wizarding world, where the concept of a cheque did not exist. All of this, Algernon (who was familiar with the muggle world) explained, was due to a variety of factors: for one thing, wizards don't really trust their own banking system, since it was, after all, controlled by a hostile species. In fact, the goblins were strictly prohibited from accessing any wizard's vault without the wizard being physically present. Also, with space-expanding coin purses, the Feather-Light Charm and the Coin-Counting Charm, it was considerably easier for wizards to deal with large piles of coins than it would be for muggles, so the convenience factor of cheques and bank notes was much less. Algernon, whose NEWT schedule gave him a free period after lunch, dropped him off at his Defense classroom and Harry, making a mental note to look up those two charms, expressed his gratitude.

He was the first Hufflepuff to show up for Defense class. Actually, there were only a few other students there. Harry wondered if he was very early. There were few clocks around the school, since there was a charm that told the time, but Harry did not know that spell, either, nor had he bought a magical watch. Terry and Sonny, who were among the five students to show up before Harry, waved him over. Seeing no reason not to, Harry sat down next to them.

"What's the rumor mill saying about this class?" he asked.

"Another snooze," Sonny said. "Just like history. Apparently Quirrell was a half-decent professor when he was here a few years ago, but from what I've heard he's somehow turned to rubbish."

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling frustrated. "It can't actually be as bad as Binns though," he said, although he didn't feel any of the optimism that those words might suggest.

Terry snorted. Sonny said, "We'll see, I guess."

Shortly after the lesson actually got underway (half an hour late, since apparently even the teacher got lost trying to find the place, even though he had already held half a dozen classes in this room over the last two days), it soon became apparent that Professor Quirrell was, in fact, a significantly worse teacher than Professor Binns. First of all, the man's stuttering, stammering, halting, frankly broken speech was nigh-incomprehensible. Harry didn't have anything against people that stuttered, but he had to wonder if teaching – _lecturing_ – was a good career choice. Quirrell's speech was both more difficult to pay attention to, and more slowly-delivered than Binns's, and while Binns had had a sort of almost-hypnotic boringness that put people to sleep, Quirrell only inspired irritation in most of the students or pity in the most sympathetic ones, and his sudden changes in volume, pitch and rate of speech made him far more difficult to tune out than Binns. Harry couldn't even read his enchanting book, the man was so distracting. The professor's second obvious flaw was that he seemed to be constantly in a state of near-hysterical fear. He jumped at the sight of his own shadow _twice_ in that two hour period, and when a cloud moved to stop covering the sun, he flattened himself against the wall, apparently mistaking the sudden sunlight for spellfire. Some of the students laughed at him, while others just regarded him with piteous bemusement, but for Harry the man's over-the-top paranoia was simply annoying. Thirdly, and this is no minor point, the man stank. The strand of garlic cloves that he wore as a necklace could not entirely cover up a putrid odor that reminded Harry of ground beef that, forgotten in the back of a refrigerator, had gone bad to the point of greening. Frankly, Harry despised the man, and as much as he tried he could not remember ever meeting anyone that had repulsed him so much. By the end of his first class, Harry was at the point of abject loathing, and was in a very foul temper made only worse by a rather painful headache.

Harry stood up to leave so quickly that he was temporarily blinded from lightheadedness, which unfortunately made it rather difficult for him to actually go anywhere, since the classroom was far from familiar enough to walk around blindly in. That left him standing there awkwardly as all of the other students filed out. Harry's friends, he realized, must have assumed that he wanted a private word with the teacher, and had left. Part of him was annoyed that nobody had even asked why he was just standing there, but a larger part of him was grateful that nobody had made a big deal about it. As his vision cleared and expanded, Harry realized that he was not actually alone. Terry and Sonny were still sitting in their seats. Professor Quirrell was regarding Harry with an unreadable, unblinking expression.

"Did you have some question, Mr. Potter?"

Now caught, he had to say something, or risk appearing foolish to his fool professor, which was not something that he could permit to happen. "Professor, I noticed that you didn't assign us any homework," he said.

"No," the professor agreed with a smile that was trying to be pleasant, but wasn't.

"Well, I had been thinking about doing a bit of self-study to get ahead, and I was wondering which of the spells from _The Dark Forces_ we would be learning first, so that I could go ahead and work on that."

"Oh that w-w-w-w-won't be necessary, Mr. P-p-potter. No spells are learned in this class until th-th-th-th … until third year."

Harry nodded. "I see," he said, and left, Terry and Sonny hot on his heels.

"What was that about?" Terry asked.

"I'll be needing to learn spells that make me deaf, and make me unable to smell," Harry said by way of explanation.

Terry started laughing. Sonny, however, didn't follow. "What for?" he said.

"I'll have to think of some excuse to skip class until I learn those spells," Harry said. "There is no way I'm going back without them."

As it turned out, the Hogwarts Library had vanishingly few books that instructed on the casting of jinxes, hexes and curses (and a spell that makes someone deaf or anosmic (which means nose-blind) would definitely qualify as a jinx or hex, according to Terry and Sonny). However, it just so happened that Sonny's Hufflepuff older sister was a bit of a mischief-maker who was known to do a bit of pranking from time to time. Her primary targets tended to be the Slytherin girls in her year, who never did figure out who kept making their fingernails rot every second Wedsneday of the month ever since second year like clockwork. With her adorable little brother's recommendation, Sonny thought she would be more than happy to help Harry jinx himself. The procedure surrounding pranking, and discussion of pranks, was apparently a serious matter, since plotting to jinx another student was punishable the same as actually doing so (and far less satisfying). So, Sonny wrote a letter of introduction for Harry to assure his sister that he wasn't a nark. The letter read:

 _Hey Becca. My friend Harry Potter was wondering if you could give him a few pointers on the runic properties of potions ingredients. Cheers! – Sonny_

"The runic properties of potions ingredients?" Harry read. "What does that even mean?"

"Complete gibberish. She'll know what it means," Sonny said. "Hopefully."

So, slip of parchment rolled up and pocketed, Harry went back to Hufflepuff to look for Sonny's sister. Having never been in the position of placing discrete inquiries for prohibited goods, he wasn't quite sure where to begin. Certainly he couldn't just ask a prefect to point out Becca Albright of fourth year – that would be like sending a letter to a shop warning them you're going to rob them next week.

Spotting a group of girls that he thought might be about the right age sitting around the Hearth, Harry just casually walked over, took a seat at a nice armchair nearby, said "Hey" and started looking for his Charms text and some parchment.

"Hey yourself, Harry Potter," one of them said.

He gave them a brief smile and got out his ink pot, then continued scrounging around in his bag for a bit. "Does one of you have a quill I could borrow?" he asked. He had forty-one quills in his bag, including the dirty one from Herbology.

A boy sitting on the other side of him gave Harry the quill that he was using and said, "Keep it."

Harry wanted to curse. He said, "Thanks." The boy nodded and got out another quill to keep writing whatever it was that he had been writing. The quill that Harry now had was already wet with ink. It dripped on his book. He stared at the ink puddle. He felt foolish. He wished he had a tissue. He glanced over at the older girls. They were all looking at him and their eyes were all shining with amusement. He felt himself blushing. The quill dripped again. Harry opened his Charms book and set up the parchment over it, and the quill over that, so that the ink would drip onto the parchment and not onto the book. His inkwell was sitting on the arm of the chair, unopened. He wondered what he would do with this balancing act when it came time to dip the quill. A blot of ink dripped onto the parchment. He chanced another glance over at the group of older girls. They were all watching him still. He said the best thing he could come up with, which was: "I've just remembered where my quill is."

Two of them starting laughing. The other three looked like they wanted to laugh, too. One of those three leaned over, resting her elbow on the arm of the couch and her chin on her hand, and looked at him with shining brown eyes. Harry wanted to look away, but he held her gaze. After about two seconds, she spoke with lips that formed both words and a dimpled smile. "Is 'hey' all you wanted to say to us?"

Harry replayed the events so far in his mind: his super casual approach and his offhand greeting had worked so _well_. But then he had asked to borrow a quill, and everything had gone to hell. He could picture what he would look like from their angle, bumbling about with book and quill and parchment and inkwell, making a complete mess, looking so self-conscious. Wearing a ridiculous pointed hat the whole while. He looked like a sad clown trying to do a happy clown's bit. He had no idea what to say. He wished Neville or Ernie or Justin would come over and plop down and _help_. But the girl's eyes were not cruel as she leaned in close to him. She was just teasing him a little bit. And in its own way, even though he was the butt of the joke, this was kind of a perfect little moment. "I wish I could see my face right now," he said.

"I'm glad I can," she said, bringing her other elbow up on the couch's arm, interlacing her fingers under her chin and leaning in closer. The other four were watching with all of the enthusiasm of soap opera addicts watching a series finale.

Harry wondered if maybe he wasn't up to snuff for Hufflepuff. He felt so very out of his depth. An antisocial boy like him had decided to go to Hufflepuff _why_? Harry was pretty sure that the boy who had offered him his own quill was watching him, too, but he didn't dare to turn around and look.

The girl puffed out her lips a tiny bit, and Harry found himself looking at them, and his brain was suddenly so much chaos that he couldn't really call any particular thought a conscious thought anymore. Somewhere in what remnants of logic were left, he realized that even if one of these girls were Sonny's sister Becca, there was no way he could admit that he had sat down next to them, and gone through all of this, just to borrow a book from a girl he didn't know. The admission that he had deliberately caused this ridiculous situation would make him look even more foolish than he already did. This realization appeared somewhere in the back of his head, but slowly it lit up the rest of his mind, and the understanding that his plan had dramatically failed released him. He felt free to act.

He thought he might try turning the tables a bit. He said, "Actually, the truth is, I just saw you sitting here, and I wanted to know your name. Pretty lame, right?" The boy whose quill he was still holding had a fit of coughs. Harry could not see what the other girls were doing, since the one was leaning in so close. Steeling his determination, Harry continued to stare the girl down.

"It's just the lamest," she agreed, but her smile brightened.

Harry wondered if he could just start the conversation over, or if he had to make some sort of announcement about it. But he didn't really want to say, 'let's just start over,' so he just went ahead and did. "Hey," he said, "My name is Harry Potter. How do you do?"

"I do well, Harry Potter," she said. "My name is Samantha Fleck."

Harry had no idea where he was going with this. He raked and scraped his mind, but there was not the slightest interesting thing there to say. His mind ran through a number of terrible choices: 'Nice day today, eh?' – 'How about that Professor Quirrell?' – 'Are you into the Weird Sisters?' – 'The fire's nice, isn't it?' – 'I really should be doing my Potions homework, I don't know why I have my Charms book out.' – 'Prime numbers are pretty great, don't you think?' – 'What Quidditch team do you favor?' – 'I have a huge house right in London. Where do you live?' – 'My parents are dead. What do your parents do for work?' – 'Fancy a game of billiards?' – 'Ever thought about learning Chinese?' – and on and on and on, and not a single possibility stood out as particularly not-daft. Finally he settled on, "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Fleck."

"The pleasure is mutual, Mr. Potter," she said.

Harry could see that she wasn't about to help him out. Since she would be just as happy to see him flounder as to see him come through, it was entirely up to him to figure it out. He thought he might be able to get some traction with a compliment, but he struggled to come up with one that wouldn't be embarrassing for him to say. His stupid brain provided a number of bad choices: 'You're really pretty.' – 'Your eyes are really pretty.' – 'Your hair looks really soft.' – 'Your dimples are amazing.' – 'Your lips make me want to turn into a piping hot cup of tea for you to blow the steam off of and sip.' – and that's when his brain locked up completely for a moment. He considered himself fortunate for the second time that day that his mouth seemed to be able to keep working completely independently of his brain in times of great need. Acting on its own, his mouth said, "That's a really nice bracelet." In truth, he had barely noticed the bracelet.

"Thanks," she said, glancing down at it. "My boyfriend gave it to me for our one-year." She looked over Harry's shoulder.

He looked around and found his quill donor grinning at him. "Good eye with that," Harry said unsurely.

"Right?" the boy said. He extended his hand for Harry to shake. Harry shuffled his quill into his left hand and shook. "Frankie Wooten," the boy said.

"Harry Potter. Nice to meetcha," Harry said. How awkward he felt, sitting between them! What was he _doing_? The realization that he was sitting right in between a couple made him feel very out of place, intrusive really. The fact that they both seemed to want to mess with him made it so much worse. But this, Harry realized with what part of his mind was still working at a high level, was probably all just part of the hazing process for firstie Puffs, so he had to go through with whatever this was. The four other girls were still watching keenly. Harry wished that he had an interest that was more relateable to other witches than _computers_ , just so that he would have something to divert the conversation to. But he didn't know anything about music or sports or whatever else wizarding popular culture consisted of, leaving him with only Hogwarts to talk about. It was something that he would have to rectify at some point. For now, obvious topics of discussion he could start a conversation about included: the subjects taught at school (Charms might be a good choice, since his Charms book was in his lap), the teachers, the House system, the ghosts, the castle itself, the nearby village. "So," he said, "do you think Hufflepuff has a chance at the Quidditch Cup this year?"

Frankie Wooten stroked his jaw in consideration. Samantha Fleck rolled her eyes with a little laugh. Harry was surpised when she answered while Frankie was still thinking it over. "That all depends on who we get as our new Seeker," she said. "We'll be hurting if we can't find someone to replace Bailey."

"So true," Frankie Wooten said.

"Bailey?" Harry asked.

"Our old seeker," Frankie told him. "She graduated. She was pretty good."

"She never beat Charlie Weasley," one of the other girls on the couch put in. "That man was a god on a broom."

"So true," Frankie said again.

This topic, Harry concluded, had been a good choice. It seemed that everyone had an opinion to share. Mostly just listening in the friendly debate that ensued between Frankie and the girls, Harry felt relieved to have the attention off of him for a change. Frankie had taken over the conversation, and Harry was glad of it. He did notice, however, that Samantha Fleck would look over at him from time to time, sometimes looking at him for just a glance, sometimes for a second or two. He thought that she must have something she wanted to say to him, but he didn't want to ask her since this Quidditch conversation was going so well. Besides, if he asked her what was on her mind, the most likely answer by far was 'nothing,' and all he would have accomplished was getting everyone's attention and learning nothing.

The Hufflepuffs' chances, the group all agreed, was most dependant on the quality of the Seeker chosen to replace Bailey. However, apparently the Keeper, one Patrick Mayhew, had let a few easy blocks get through in Hufflepuff's last game against Ravenclaw last year, and although they had won the match thanks to Bailey's catching of the snitch, there was a rumor that the team captain, Joshua Mallory, would be having tryouts for that position as well. The girl that had offered her opinion on Charlie Weasley, whose name was Tosha Timely, thought that since Mallory was looking to replace the Mayhew, he'd probably just hold tryouts for all of the positions even though the team already had three good Chasers. That way, it wouldn't look like he was singling Mayhew out. Tosha hoped that that was the case, because even though the Chasers they had were pretty solid, she wanted to try out for that position herself. Another girl pointed out to Tosha that she would have to perform insanely well for Mallory to give one of the Chasers he already had the boot and let her take their spot. "I know that, Becca," she said, and Harry's ears perked up. "I'll just have to give it my best."

Once she had been identified, the family resemblance to Sonny was obvious. She had the same hazel eyes and slightly puffy brown hair, and a similar smallish nose and wide jaw. Harry, who had given up on his original mission a long time ago, had given up the hope that any of the girls here were the one he was looking for. Still, it wasn't as though he could just suddenly ask her about that jinx. His reasons for giving up had been solid, and still applied even though he had now figured out who Becca Albright was.

"I wish firsties were allowed to play," Harry said, although he didn't really mean it.

"Oh, they _are_ , technically at least," Tosha Timely said. "I looked it up first year. Even though it's forbidden to have your own broom, there's no rule on the books that I could find that says you can't join the team."

"I see," Harry said. Now, Harry hadn't really meant anything when he had said that he wished firsties could play. He had never in his life played any sports. The closest he had ever come was kicking around a football at school back in Surrey. He wasn't particularly terrible, from what he remembered, although he definitely wasn't any good, either. But now he considered the possibility: although he might not know anything about sports, he knew that playing them could increase your popularity by an order of magnitude. If he played, and if he was good at it, it would earn him the goodwill of everyone in Hufflepuff House, and the admiration of everyone else at school. While playing for the Hufflepuff team would obviously take up a _huge_ amount of time and energy, Harry was already committed to spending a huge amount of time and energy on making himself well-liked and well-respected. Currently his only strategies for doing so were being nice to people and doing well in classes, which would probably never earn him any recognition beyond people just saying 'Yeah, he's nice, pretty bright too.' But Quidditch … the wizarding world was absolutely obsessed with the game. From what he could tell, even football fever back in the muggle world didn't come close. So, as he turned the idea over and around in his mind, Harry thought maybe playing Quidditch would be the absolute _best_ way to spend his time and energy.

"Do you even fly?" Frankie asked. "I heard you grew up in the muggle world."

"I've never flown a broom," Harry confirmed. "But how hard could it be?"

"Do you want to find out?" Becca asked, a glint in her eye.

Becca, Tosha and Frankie dragged Harry away to a quiet corner in the game room. Tosha and Frankie set up a chessboard so that it would look like they were doing something other than conspiring to break school rules. Once they were sure that there were no prefects or narks around – which took some time, since a boy called Leonard Dumpkin, who Becca would never forgive for ratting her out for something or other in first year, was lingering nearby – they devised a plan which received the codename Project Owlflight.

Finalizing the details of the plan shortly after the start of the dinnertime, the lot of them tried not to smirk or otherwise look devious as they made their way to the Great Hall.

"You're late!" Hannah said.

"Seriously?" Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm only half an hour late."

"I'm only playing," Hananh said, but she started scooping food onto his plate.

"Where have you been, anyway?" Neville asked while Harry watched, baffled, as Hannah continued to pile on the vegetables.

"Oh, I just got roped into playing a few games of chess with some of the upperyears," he said, trying to sound like the experience had been painful. "Turns out I'm terrible at chess."

 _Shit_. Harry thought that he really needed to watch his mouth. Now he would have to remember that he was supposed to be terrible at chess. With the mental equivalent of a shrug, he filed that away.

The other firsties started talking about the potions assignment that was due the next afternoon, which Harry had completely forgotten about. Actually, it was Hermione who started the discussion, since she was the only one besides Harry who hadn't done the assignment the day before, right after class.

"It really was ever so interesting," she gushed. "I mean, I read about the properties of all of the different ingredients over summer, but it never actually occurred to me to look at a _real potion_ and run through it and see how it all worked together! It really was enlightening. Don't you think so, Harry?"

"I'll have to do it after dinner," he admitted. Before she could chastize him for procrastinating, he added, "That really does sound like a fun assignment though. I can't wait to get started."

"It doesn't make any sense," Wayne said. "I mean, we got it done, but the way the ingredients interact is so confusing."

"Oh, really, Wayne. You've just got to keep the Sixteen Laws in mind and it's all perfectly clear," Hermione said.

"But that's the problem," Wayne said. "There's _sixteen_ of them and some of them contradict each other."

"That is why they are in order," Hermione stated. "Look, how about we go over it together after dinner?"

Wayne looked like that was just about the last thing he wanted to do in his precious evening hours of freedom, but he said weakly, "All right."

Much to the amazement of Wayne and several of the others, Neville said, "I think I'll join you. It doesn't really make sense to me, either."

"Excellent!" Hermione said, glowing.

When it came time for Harry to do the assignment himself about an hour or so later, he excused himself from the group and ducked into the quiet study room. Having heard Hermione's advice for Wayne, he began by opening up _Magical Draughts and Potions_ to the appendix that listed all Sixteen Laws of Transmigration and Tessellation. The Sixteen Laws were, in his opinion, misnamed, because many of the laws actually contained more than one, and sometimes as many as twelve, subsidiary rules. In all, the Sixteen Laws took three pages of the book, and it was a rather wide and tall book. He had looked over them more than once over the summer, but never with the intention of memorizing them. Looking at them much more closely than ever before, he realized that, taken as a whole, the Sixteen Laws were not entirely dissimilar to a class in programming. The metaphor was far from perfect, but immediately he saw that it was useful. Looking at each Law as though it were a method of a SixteenLaws class, and looking at each of its subrules as just a conditional statement within that method, Harry was slowly able to put together in his mind the class that they made up, and see how it all worked together. While some of the 'methods' referenced things he didn't quite understand yet, for now he didn't worry about that and just let those be 'black boxes' that just did what they did.

Now in a state of mind that came very close to meditative, he began to assemble the program that would make use of this class to actually make a potion.

Very quickly he realized that he needed a class for the ingredients, as well. The best design that he could come up with would be to simply make the Ingredient class inherit from the SixteenLaws class, and then have a bunch of variables whose values were specific to each different ingredient, which would then inform how the inherited methods from SixteenLaws worked.

Finally, there must be a class for the potion itself. The only important things about this class was that it contained an array of Ingredient objects and a method called AddIngredient.

So, bit by bit he pieced all of this together in mental pseudo-code until he thought he might have something that would actually work. In all, it took two or three hours. All of this he was able to store in his mind just as easily as he was able to store the definition of every method of every class in BitHeap – of course his BrewPotion pseudo-program was considerably simpler than BitHeap. So much simpler, in fact, that he felt no need to write anything down. Once he was pretty satisfied with it, he let it sort of settle and solidify in his mind. The problem now, he realized as he looked down at his blank sheet of parchment, was how to translate this into language that a wizard could understand.

Harry's first Potions assignment was only six inches of parchment, but in all it took him three hours to do, most of which were spent staring at the wall or just sitting there with his eyes closed. However, he was fully confident that he could use his new 'mental program' BrewPotion for the rest of his life, making patches along the way whenever he learned something new. So he was all smiles when he left the quiet study room, rejoined his fellow firsties, and let Hermione read over his assignment.

But the night was young yet for Harry.

Project Owlflight began at exactly thirty minutes past one in the morning. Harry, still wearing his pants, shirt and shoes, slipped out of bed, threw on his robes, and, quiet as could be, pausing only to double-check that insomniac Ernie was definitely asleep, made his way down the long hallway to the Common Room. The other three were already waiting for him, lurking in a particularly dark corner near the exit, Frankie and Tosha holding brooms. Wordlessly, they crept over to the exit and peered out. The coast was clear. Becca led them all down the hallway in the opposite direction of the Entrance Hall. The hallway terminated in a what Harry had to admit was a pretty suspicious featureless gray wall with no doors around. Becca squated down by one corner of the hallway's dead-end wall, and Harry watched as she wrapped her hands around one stone in particular and lifted up. The stone wall opened up like it was no more than a curtain, and the four Puffs slipped through.

"Brilliant," Harry said.

Becca shook her head with a laugh. "Hardly," she said. "It's one of the most poorly hidden secret passageways in the castle. That hallway just ending like that is just too damn suspicious."

"So true," Frankie said. "That's why the Hufflepuffs back in the thirties did this. _Lumos!_ "

The corridor in front of them was completely caved-in. It was clear at the first glance that there would be no getting through. Harry thought that not even magic could repair the corridor, an opinion that he voiced.

"That's just Our Lady the Saint of Mischief's Why-Try Charm working on you," Becca explained.

"It prevents people from trying to solve a problem," Tosha explained. "In this case, it's making you think that even with magic you'll never be able to get through this corridor. You probably feel like just giving up and going back to bed, right?"

Harry nodded, eyes wide. He never knew that magic could do things like that. Although, thinking about it, it wasn't _too_ terribly different from the Notice-Me-Not Charm that prevented muggles from seeing the Leaky Cauldron.

"We all feel like that right now," Frankie said. "Just ignore it."

Becca was off to the left side of the blocked-off corridor, poking at the various stones comprising the wall with her wand. "I could use some light over here," she said.

"Sorry," Frankie said, moving over to illuminate the perfectly boring wall for her.

"The password changes every night," Becca explained. "There's a pattern to it … but this might take a while."

Becca continued to poke at the stones for the next five minutes until finally she found the right code and the wall opened up for them. Beyond it there was a roughly-hewn corridor that led off to the right, parallel to the blocked-off corridor. After a few hundred feet, the little tunnel they were in abruptly ended. Becca found a reddish rock that stood out from the mostly gray rocks around it, and poked it with her wand, and this wall opened up, too.

"We're trusting you with this, by the way," Tosha said as they came out of the little tunnel into the much wider corridor. To his right, Harry saw that the cave-in extended all the way to where they now were. Excluding any pockets of air in between, there was at least two or three hundred feet of debris.

Becca and Frankie nodded in agreement to what Tosha was saying. Becca said, "We can't let the Gryffindors find out about this place."

"Or the Slytherins," Frankie added.

"Sure, them too. But those damn Gryffindors are the real problem. That's why we had to block off this tunnel to begin with, you know? The Fendors found out about it – well, it wasn't well-hidden back then – and apparently one of the Fendors back in the thirties couldn't keep his damn mouth shut, and soon the entire castle knew about it. So Our Lady the Saint of Mischief came up with this. Nobody knows how she was able to collapse the whole damn corridor without waking up the entire castle."

"Or killing herself," Tosha muttered.

"Impressive," Harry said. "Who is Our Lady the Saint of Mischief?"

"Amelia Bones," they all chorused.

Harry gaped. When he found his voice again, he repeated the traditional oath Tosha told him. He swore to never reveal the secret passageway to any prefect, nark, Fendor or Otherwise Shady Individual, which included all of his fellow firsties who hadn't yet gotten Becca's personal stamp of approval. It wasn't a magically-binding oath because, according to Tosha, Hufflepuffs don't need the threat of looming death or squibbery just to keep their word.

The corridor seemed to go on forever. After a while, the stonework matching the castle faded away and they were in a tunnel that seemed to be carved right into the bedrock, and still it went on and on.

"How long is this tunnel, anyway?" Harry asked.

"Two point six miles," Frankie answered easily.

"You get used to it," Tosha said.

"I kind of enjoy the walk," Becca revealed. "It's really peaceful down here."

"Yeah," Frankie said, "But you're mad, though."

"Actually, we usually fly down the tunnel," Tosha explained. "But it's not really the ideal place to _learn_ how to fly."

The tunnel got narrower and narrower as they went ever deeper down, and pretty soon they were walking in a file and Harry couldn't imagine racing along on a broom, especially since you would need to use one hand to do a _Lumos_. Finally they came to a point where the tunnel seemed to abruptly end. On closer inspection, however, there was a tiny hole in the wall which Becca peered through like a peephole. Furthermore there was a tiny circle etched in the stone just above the peephole. After confirming that the coast was clear, she tapped the circle with her wand and the peephole expanded until it was wide enough for them to pass through. They emerged in a small cavern that showed signs of habitation: there were beer bottles piled up in one corner, a few small mattresses in another, and in the middle of the cavern was a fire pit.

"Sometimes we come out here and party," Tosha explained. She went over to one random wall and tapped it with her wand and it opened up to reveal a primitive shelf cut right into the rock of the cave wall. "There's only two left," she said, retrieving a pair of bottles.

"We'll just have to share," Becca said with a shrug, accepting the bottle Tosha opened and handed her. Tosha took a sip of the other one and handed it to Harry. It was a very weird tasting drink, but he thought he liked it.

"What is this stuff?" he asked.

"Wow, I keep forgetting that you don't know anything," Becca said. "That's butterbeer. Chin-chin!" They clinked their bottles, had another sip, and handed them off. Becca led Harry and the others out of the cavern, and Harry was amazed when he emerged. The cave was cut into a cliff, and the cliff stood over lawned hills that rolled down below them like a staircase. Far, far below them, Harry could make out the faintly twinkling lights of what must have been the village, because looming over it he could see the impressive silhouette of Hogwarts cut out in the moonlight – but all of that was just in one direction. Around them in every other directon was a seemingly endless, absolutely gorgeous sea of hills. It was a breathtaking view.

"Enough sight-seeing," Becca said after letting Harry take it in for a while. "We're on a mission. Project Owlflight, stage two, go!" But in contradiction to her word, Becca went over to a nice chair-like rock and sat down, gazing down at the splendid view.

"Becca's not much good with brooms," Tosha explained as she and Frankie led him off to a relatively flat patch of lawn.

Within twenty minutes, Harry was up in the air, following Tosha around on Frankie's broom. An hour or so later, Harry was doing barrel rolls and corkscrew-dives to the astonishment of the older students. Then Tosha let Harry use her broom, a Galeburst, which was about twice as fast as Frankie's Cleansweep, and he was screaming with joy as he whipped it around. Eventually Becca came over and joined them, and seeing how far Harry had come in that short time, she decided that they might as well see as far as he can go. So she retrieved a galleon from her pocket, said, "Catch this or you owe me!" and threw it as hard as she could. Harry shot after it like a rocket and, to his own astonishment, caught it just before it hit the ground. He barely managed to pull his broom up in time to avoid crashing into the ground at a speed that would probably have killed him. Frankie and Tosha burst into cheers, hooting and pumping their fists. Becca looked on with a satisfied, almost parental smirk.

Harry felt amazing.

"Looks like we found our Seeker," Becca said.

"So true," Frankie said.

* * *

Some notes:

Puffs, like Slytherins, prize most of all a trait that _relies on other people_. Puff loyalty, like Slytherin cutthroatiness, is meaningless if you live on an island with a population of one. By contrast, Claw intelligence and Fendor bravery do not rely on other people being around: you can still be more or less intelligent, and more or less brave, on an island of one. I'm not saying that Hufflepuff and Slytherin are two sides of the same coin, but they're not completely different currencies either. Anyway, I hope that all of the teasing and secrecy in this chapter illustrates this.

Yep, Gryffindors will henceforth be known as Fendors.

So, Amelia Bones is a Legend. Actually, a lot of people in the Bones family tree are Legends, but Amelia Bones is a Next-Level Legend. In case you're wondering, because the ages don't really add up, she's not actually Susan's aunt, but rather Susan's father's father's sister, making her Susan's Great Aunt (in this story). You'll be hearing a lot about Our Lady the Saint of Mischief.

Cheers!


	6. Chapter 6

The Tinkerer

Chapter 6

The four Hufflepuffs were having such a great time that they didn't realize how late it was until the sky started to get a predawn glow. "We gotta go!" Becca called out to Harry and Tosha, who were still zipping around on their brooms, tossing around a ball Becca had conjured.

They came in and landed. As Harry's feet touched the ground and he dismounted, he was overcome with the mad desire to get back on and just fly all the way back to school. "Flying is awesome," he said. His face hurt from smiling, and his whole body was sore, and he just wanted to keep flying. Never in his life had he felt this simple euphoria before. Never in his life had he felt so at home in his body, so free, so awake, so light, so bright.

"Settle down, flyboy," Becca said. "It's time to go."

Harry's legs felt noodly as they walked back down that long tunnel, like your legs might feel after a long bike ride, or after getting off a boat. But he soon noticed that they were going downhill, which reminded him that they had been going downhill on the way up, too. So he asked, "Is this tunnel charmed to be a two-way downhill?"

"It's all part of Our Lady the Saint of Mischief's grand design," Frankie said in a parody of religious reverence. "Don't worry about it."

"She did all of the Opening Walls, too," Tosha said. "And of course the Why-Try. It's all old Bones Family magic."

"Actually, Our Lady the Saint of Mischief invented the Why-Try Charm and the Down-We-Go," Becca corrected. "The Opening Walls are old family magic, though. The Boneses did the one at the Leaky Cauldron, too."

Harry felt a great deal of admiration for Our Lady the Saint of Mischief and her family. It also got him to wondering if his own family had any old family magic. He had no idea how to go about looking into that, though. He got the impression that such things were generally kept secret, so it wasn't like he could just go to the Hogwarts Library and check out a book called _Super Secret Magic of the Potter Family_. Then again, there might not be any family magic – he had no particular reason to think that there would be. Not for the first time, he was disheartened by how much he did not know that he should know. "I'll be needing a broom if I get on the team," he said.

"No problem," Becca said. "You can use mine. You just have to buy me one."

Harry wrapped his mind around this: of course! Although firsties weren't allowed to have their own brooms, there wasn't a rule specifically forbidding them from borrowing another person's broom. So, he would just go out and get Becca a nice broom as a perfectly innocent gift to a dear friend – then borrow it from her for every practice and every match. The only problem was, brooms were tremendously expensive, and there was no way he was going to just mail the thousands of galleons to some sporting goods place – nor did he have that much money, or rather it was all in Gringotts. "Sure," he said. "I'll just pop over to Diagon and buy one."

"So true," Frankie said. "It's a problem."

"No problem at all!" Becca declared. "Don't fill your silly little firstie head with things that don't matter yet."

"But I _will_ be needing a broom," Harry protested. "Or rather, you will."

"I said don't worry about it," Becca said, sounding supremely unconcerned.

Harry decided to trust her. After all, she had carried him this far. Of course, there was one other thing: "How much does one of those Galebursts go for, anyway?" he asked Tosha.

"Oh, you can't buy these," she said. "You'll be getting a Nimbus."

"Are they discontinued or something?" Harry asked. Becca and Frankie both groaned.

"Well," Tosha said, "It's like this. This little Galeburst of mine wasn't just the top of the line when it was released. It was a _revolution_ in broom design. It put all other brooms to _shame_. But, unfortunately for the Barnaby British Broomstick Company, there was an unsavory character working for them, an enchantress who knew everything about the broom, and had access to all of their documents: Boris Barnaby's own wife Tamilda. Well, to make a long story short, one day not long after this top-of-the-line, revolutionary broomstick hit the market, she got a better offer from the Swiftly Flight Company. So she snuck into the Barnaby workshop in the middle of the night, stole everything but the walls, and fled the country. Six weeks go by, and Swiftly surprises the entire world with the release of their newest broom: the Nimbus 2000."

"Corporate espionage," Harry breathed. "Nasty."

"Very nasty," Tosha agreed. "Now, this wasn't the first time someone had put out a knock-off broom. But the Nimbus 2000 isn't just a knock-off. It's got all of the same spells, from the twig-retainer to the impact-absorber. It's a perfect clone except for the paintjob."

"But that wasn't the final nail in the coffin for Barnaby Brooms, was it Tosha?" Frankie asked, kindly assisting her storycraft.

"No, it wasn't Frankie," Tosha said, smiling at him. "The final nail in the coffin was the pricetag. Those boys at Swiftly didn't have to recoup the losses of years upon years of research and development, and they have the facilities to mass-produce. Hundreds of enchanters. So, Swiftly was able to price the Nimbus 2000 at less than half the price of the original Galeburst.

"Barnaby Brooms sued, of course, but Swiftly Flight is an American company, and international patent law is a nightmare. In the meantime, Barnaby Brooms has stopped production, because they can't sell the same broom at twice the price. Plus, their capacity was only forty brooms or so a month to begin with, and they would have to cut even that since Tamilda Barnaby ran off. Swiftly is a huge company, and they can make a thousand a month. So, all of the professional teams had no choice but to buy a Nimbus even if they wanted to support Barnaby, since there weren't enough Galebursts to go around."

"Wow," Harry said. "It's sad."

"Tragic!" Tosha said. "But let me tell you a little tidbit on the sly. Don't be spreading it around, but Uncle Boris doesn't care about the lawsuit. That's all just to waste Swiftly Flight's resources. Those boys know they're guilty, and a lot of other people know it, too, so they're spending massive amounts of gold on lawyers and on trying to salvage their reputation. Actually, Uncle Boris is already working on the next generation broomstick. He says he's going to put those damn Swiftly Flight people out of the market for good with it."

"Uncle Boris?" Harry asked.

Tosha stood up proud and straight. "Of course! Boris Barnaby is my uncle," she said. "How else would I have this broom?"

"That's a very special broom, too, isn't it Tosha?" Frankie facilitated.

"Right you are, Frankie!" Tosha said, beaming at him. "This broom right here is actually the Galeburst Version Zero-Dash-Seven. It's the final prototype they made before they finalized the real Galeburst. That's why it has brown twigs instead of black, and it's hard to tell but it's actually a slightly different shade of blue. And look here, its serial number is zero-zero-zero-dash-seven. It's one-of-a-kind."

Harry was suitably amazed. "Thanks for letting me ride it," he said. "I would have been more careful if I knew all of that."

Tosha beamed at him and ruffled his hair patronizingly. "Don't worry about it, kid," she said magnanimously.

"I'll feel bad buying a Nimbus, though, knowing all of that," he said.

"Don't feel bad, Harry," Tosha said. "Uncle Boris isn't making any more Galebursts."

Even though she said that, the thought of handing over hundreds or thousands of galleons to the company that had ruined her family business made him sick. He didn't think he could do it. He resolved to buy some other broom instead, even if it wasn't as fast. Of course, he couldn't say that, since Tosha would probably just try to convince him that it really was okay. He knew it wasn't okay. A broom like Frankie's would be good enough, and then he could buy the next Barnaby broom whenever they started selling it. It was hardly like he needed a professional broom just to play in the Hogwarts House League, anyway.

This got Harry very thoughtful. He was an aspiring enchanter – what if he built a broom?

They all laughed at him when he voiced the idea. "You can't just make your own broom, first of all," Becca said, the first to recover. "It has to be properly licensed and so on. And I get that you're smart or whatever, but brooms are not easy to make. Just the most basic broom you could imagine would still need dozens of enchantments. It's not a project for a beginner."

Neither, Harry thought, was BitHeap. Still, that hadn't been his first program, and it had taken him _two years_ of hard work to make. He would have to buy a broom. But maybe, in a few years...

"If you're really serious about it, maybe Uncle Boris will hire you. After you graduate, I mean," Tosha said.

By the time they had walked the entire two point six miles back to school, Harry was exhausted.

"This is the tricky bit ..." Becca said as they arrived back at the entrance to Hufflepuff. She stroked the pattern on the apple painting and it swung open, and they all crept in quietly as they could. To their great relief, the Common Room was deserted.

"We got caught once, last year," Frankie revealed. "Stuart Johnson was asleep on the chair, I guess, and we woke him up when we came in. He didn't care, though: Stuart's a stand-up guy."

"We got off lucky," Becca stated. "Okay, here's your potions." She handed each of them a small vial of teal fluid which Frankie and Tosha immediately took a sip of.

Harry asked, "What's that for?"

"Power-Through Potion," Becca said. "Necessity for all-nighters. It's Auror grade, so just take a sip if you've never tried it before. It was invented by –"

" – Our Lady the Saint of Mischief," Harry finished.

"Now you're getting it," she said. "Go on, have a sip."

Feeling slightly unsure about it, Harry clinked his vial with Becca's just like the butterbeer earlier and sipped. He felt immediately rejuvenated – in fact, he felt like he could go run a marathon. Or, better yet, go fly some more.

"Be careful with that stuff, kid," Tosha said. "People get hooked on it."

"So true," Frankie said. "You probably don't want to show it around to your friends."

"But why didn't we take it before the hike back?" Harry said.

"It's better to make sure you're done _getting_ tired, before you use it," Tosha said. "If we took it before the walk back, you'd be worn out by lunchtime and want another dose." Harry wasn't entirely sure if that made sense to him, but he nodded in acceptance.

"Alright, off to bed with the lot of you," Becca said.

Harry went back to his suite and took a shower. He was a mess – dirty, sweaty, his hair terribly tangled. He realized when he came out that he must have been in there for a long time, since the other boys were getting out of bed.

"You're up early," Neville commented sleepily.

Harry said, "Yeah. I got a few winks in."

At breakfast Harry realized that he would have to tell Hermione, Susan and Cerie, at least, that he would be trying out for Seeker. They needed to know, since it would more than likely necessitate an adjustment in their enchanting schedule. So he made his little announcement to the other first year Puffs.

"You'll be doing what?" Susan said, blinking at him like he'd grown an extra head.

"I'm going to try out for Seeker," he said again.

Hermione looked confused. "What's a Seeker?" she said.

"It's a Quidditch position," Cerie explained. "Harry's saying he wants to play on the Quidditch team."

"Yeah," Harry said, smiling. "I think it'll be a lot of fun. So I'm going to try out. I probably won't get on the team, though. I barely know how to fly a broom."

"How do you even know how to fly?" Hermione asked.

"I learned over the summer," Harry said, making it up as he went. _Wow_ , he thought. _I really should have come up with a good cover-story. Oh, well._ "I took a class. It's a lot of fun."

Susan was just shaking her head. "Harry, even if you did know what you were doing, there hasn't been any first years in Quidditch in over a hundred years."

"I didn't know that," he said truthfully. "Well, I'll just have to do my best."

"But Harry, why do you even _want_ to play Quidditch?" Hermione asked. "I didn't think you were into sports."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not really into sports at all. But I'm super into flying on a broom. It's brilliant. So I figure getting on the Quidditch team is about the only way they'll let me fly regularly, first year. Since we're not allowed to have our own brooms."

Hannah said, "But that's right. You can't have a broom. So how –?"

"I'll figure it out," Harry said.

"I bet you'll make the team, too," Ernie said, "Because you're a fucking legend." Ernie suddenly started cracking up, and everyone was wondering what he thought was so funny until he said, "You remember Malfoy yesterday? _His face!_ It was priceless. I'll never forget it. I mean, _his face!_ "

Harry and most of the others rolled their eyes. Ernie would probably be talking about that for weeks, they could all see. Ernie just kept laughing for the longest time, and eventually the rest of them were laughing at him laughing.

"Oh sweet Merlin," Ernie said faintly after he had finally calmed down. "Complete legend. Yeah, Harry's going to make the team for sure."

"I think so, too," Megan piped up. Harry was surprised, since he had barely ever heard her speak. He gave her a thankful smile and she looked down at her eggs.

"How is that _even_ _related to Quidditch_?" Hermione demanded.

"Don't question it," Justin said. Then he asked, "What's our first class today, anyway?" at the same time as Wayne said, "So what's Quidditch all about?" and the Puffs diverged into two different conversations – talk of school on the left, talk of sport on the right. Harry, sitting pretty much in the middle of the group, tried to play his part in both of the conversations until he noticed Dumbledore watching him with glimmering eyes. Harry watched him back for a while, until Dumbledore gave him a little smile and a little nod. Harry couldn't identify the reason, but Dumbledore's gesture of approval somehow made him feel pleased. Then the flood of mail owls came pouring in, and Harry looked up at them, and when he looked back at Dumbledore the ancient warlock was deep in conversation with Professor Flitwick.

When they got to Charms, Harry thought he had an inkling what the two old Professors had been discussing. Professor Flitwick, after waiting for the last of the students to trickle in, said, "Good morning, good morning class! Now, I have something rather special for you today. Normally we would spend the first month of class going over the most basic of basics, just to make sure that you're all up to snuff when it comes time to wave those wands. However, I've decided that it might get all of you much more enthusiastic about things if we went ahead and got our hands dirty! So we're going to put all of that theory to one side just for today, and jump right in to the _good bits:_ we will be starting on the Levitation Charm."

Many of the students actually stood up and cheered as their tiny professor beamed down at them from atop his stack of books. For Harry and Hermione, who had already mastered the spell way back in July, it was hard to see why so many students were so very excited to get cracking on it. They shared a look of confusion over their peers' ecstatic reactions. It soon became apparent, however, that they were in a very small minority. Besides Harry and Hermione, only a handful of others already knew the charm: Cerie, Terry, Lisa Turpin, Sophie Roper and Tracey Davis. Harry was really quite amazed. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now he remembered that Neville said back on the Hogwarts Express that he didn't know any magic at all. Harry could see that that was the norm, and even among the handful who knew the charm, none of them could cast it perfectly like he could. Cerie, the only other Hufflepuff besides the duo who knew it, had a very wobbly charm indeed. There was no way she would be able to levitate a glass of water without spilling like Harry could.

Hermione suggested that they should go around the classroom and help the other students who hadn't gotten it down yet. Hermione was keen on helping others learn and scoring points for Hufflepuff. Harry was keen to continue to observing the class, and he thought that going around and helping them would be a good way to do so, and might earn them a bit of recognition from their peers, too. Plus it was a good chance to introduce himself to some of their yearmates in other Houses. So they wordlessly divided the class into two halves and split up.

For the first fifteen minutes or so, it went very well. Harry was able to get Theodore Nott levitating a quill without any complications: he just needed to resolve his focus and tighten up his wand motions. Sue Li had everything else perfect but just needed some coaching on the pronunciation of the incantation. Professor Flitwick, who was still atop his dangerously tall stack of books, would grin and award points for Hufflepuff with each student they helped, saying, "Oh, well done, Miss Li! A point for Ravenclaw, and I think a point for Hufflepuff too, for Mr. Potter!" or "Good show, good show, Miss Patil! A point for Gryffindor and a point for Miss Granger as well!" It was like they got triple cherries on the House Point slot machine and they just kept pouring out. Their tiny professor was simply overjoyed. "Oh, marvelous, marvelous! There are so many worth-watching new students this year!"

Then somebody said, "Potter, I could use some tips over here."

Harry turned and looked and saw the boy who had confronted Ernie after Herbology the day before. Brown hair and blue eyes, lips slightly quirked in a smirk he probably thought was subtle. Harry had a bad feeling about this. He thought about just ignoring the boy and going over to help Neville, who was struggling. But it was obvious that Harry had heard him. So he straightened up his hat in preparation and walked over to the boy's table.

"What's your name?" Harry said.

"Could you demonstrate the swish-and-flick for me, Potter?" he asked with a goblin-grin on his face.

"Of course," Harry said. "Let me just see what you have so far."

"Oh, all right," the boy said. "Something like this?" he flicked his wand and then swished it.

To Harry, the boy's subversion of the wand motion confirmed beyond all doubt that he meant Harry ill. Even so, there seemed to be little to do about it: Harry noticed that Draco Malfoy, sitting at the table behind the boy, was watching the scene unfold with narrowed eyes, and Harry, remembering Ernie's admonishment the day before, thought it would be ill-advised to demonstrate social ineptitude in front of Draco. Therefore he had to resolve this situation himself.

"Actually, you have it all backwards," Harry said.

"All backwards?" the boy said, eyes wide in his best imitation of shock, which was not particularly convincing at all. "Oh, no! Could you show me how?"

The girl sitting next to him glanced at Draco and saw his building ire. She looked like she was about to intervene, but Harry said, "Just like this," and demonstrated the levitation spell on the feather.

"Oh, all right. Like this?" the boy actually performed the spell – but with the wand motion still reversed. The feather melted, making a terrible smell. "Oh, no!" he said. "You've taught me all wrong, Potter!"

"What do you think you're doing, Zabini?" the girl next to him said.

"Oh, just getting a few tips from Potter," he said innocently. "That's all right, isn't it Parkinson?"

" _No_ ," she said. It sounded like she was talking to an untrained puppy or a particularly troublesome unwanted stepchild. " _Stop it_."

Zabini actually looked a bit taken-aback by her vehemence. But he said in the same innocent way, "Oh, all right. Thanks for the tips, Potter."

"No," Harry said, smiling at the girl. "Thank you, Parkinson."

She beamed at him. Harry walked away to help Neville, who, he realized belatedly, was struggling more than most. It had been a mistake, he concluded, to walk around and help random students – it would have been better to start with the other Hufflepuffs. "Hey, mate," Harry said. "Let me help you out."

Harry and Neville were soon distracted by a scene taking place not far away. Hermione had gone over to help the Gryffindors, but it seemed like Ronald Weasley was more interested in throwing stones than casting spells.

"I didn't ask for your help," he said moodily.

"No," Hermione said, "But you do _need_ it."

"I don't see how Harry Potter can stand you. You're a _nightmare_!"

Harry was about to go over to her defense, but Ernie grabbed his wrist to stop him. Ernie said, "Hermione's too smart for that little git to hurt her. Let her handle this."

Hermione, however, looked uncharacteristically put out by Ronald's words. "That isn't true," she said. "I'm just trying to help you. Look, the wand motion is like this." She demonstrated for him. "And you've been pronouncing the incantation wrong. It's Win-GAR-di-um Lev-i-O-sa. Make the 'gar' nice and long."

"I can figure this out on my own, thanks," Ronald said.

"Let's see it then," Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Fine! _Win-gar-DYUM Lev-yo-SA!_ " Ronald's quill shot up into the air, spinning like a top, flying all the way up to the ceiling. Then upon contact with the ceiling it disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

"Now," Hermione said, "You see that you _do_ need my help."

"What are you on about? It _levitated_ , didn't it?" Ronald said. Except when he said it, all of the other Gryffindors, as well as all of the other students who had been watching, just started laughing at him. Ronald turned as red as a tomato – Harry could imagine steam coming out of his ears as he laughed at the boy.

Hermione looked rather smug when she said, "You're absolutely right," and moved on to help another student – another Gryffindor boy, who did not seem to share Ronald's attitude.

Neville was able to get his feather up in the air and stable on the next attempt, earning him claps on the back and 'Good show!'s from Harry and Ernie.

Since all of the first years had Transfiguration after Charms, it was a group of about forty students that made their way between the two. In the cacophony of the students flooding the hall, Ernie muttered to Harry, "I saw that upstart messing with you. Let's curse that smirk off his face."

In Transfiguration, Harry was surprised to find himself dragged to the back corner of the class by Hermione. "Since when do we sit in the back?" he asked.

"I noticed something interesting in Charms," she said quietly. She glanced around to make sure that nobody was listening and continued, "What did you notice about the students that already knew how to do the spell?"

Harry thought it over. There was him and Hermione, plus Terry and Lisa, plus Cerie, and also Sophie Roper from Ravenclaw and Tracey Davis from Slytherins. He tried to see what they all had in common, but came up with nothing, so he tried, "They're mostly witches? Only two out of seven were boys."

"That's true, but no." Hermione didn't give him the correct answer, though.

Harry thought about it some more and finally realized, "Out of all of them, you're the only muggleborn?"

"That's true too, but no," Hermione said.

"None of them were Gryffindors?"

"True, but no."

"Okay, I give up," Harry said. "Just tell me."

"Are you sure?"

" _Yes_ , just tell me."

"All right. Well, out of all of the students that already knew the charm, not a single one of them was an old blood."

Harry frowned. "But what about Cerie? And that Slytherin girl must be old blood."

"Not so," Hermione said. "Cerie is a new blood. So are Tracey Davis and Sophie Roper."

Harry's frown deepened. "New blood? I don't really know what that means ..."

"Oh, honestly, Harry. I have a really good book you should borrow, called _Magical Society: a Brief Overview of Society and Government in Magical Britain_."

"I'll be sure to read it," Harry said. "Now, what is a new blood?"

"Basically it's anyone who's got eight great grandparents that are all witches and wizards, but whose family isn't old enough to be old blood."

"I see," Harry said. "So it's in-between halfblood and old blood."

"Sort of," Hermione said. "There's different kinds of halfbloods … it gets complicated when you talk about halfbloods because the one half could be a muggle or a muggleborn, and then the other half could be a new blood or an old blood. Or, actually, they could be another halfblood, I suppose."

"Okay," Harry said slowly. "So I would be … er..."

"You would be a muggleborn-old blood halfblood," Hermione said. "For those who care about such things, that makes you more _pure_ blooded than most other people who are considered halfbloods."

"I see," Harry said, scratching his head. "People really care about all of this?"

"Yes, they do," Hermione said, and Harry had never heard her speak in such a tone of bitterness before. "It's all hardwired in how the government works."

"That's not right, though," Harry said, feeling a bit shocked.

"Be that as it may," Hermione said, "That's the government we have. Anyway." She paused and let out a puff of air. "I found it interesting that out of all of the students in the class, out of the ones who could perform the spell, there were examples of muggleborns (me), halfbloods (you, Terry and Lisa) and new bloods (Cerie, Sophie and Tracey), but no examples of old bloods."

"That's interesting," Harry agreed. "But … does it mean anything?"

"Quite possibly, no," Hermione said. "After all it's only one case study, and an anecdotal one at that. However, I just found it interesting."

Harry nodded slowly as he turned the information over and around in his head. "There's no particular reason to assume that having old blood is even related," he concluded. "However, what we can determine is this: those students all studied magic before school, while the others did not."

Hermione nodded. "That seems to be true," she said. "And that fits my hypothesis."

"You have a hypothesis?" Harry asked, amused. "And you didn't share it?"

"Of course I had to show you the data first," she said. "Or it wouldn't make any sense, would it? Now, there are pretty strict laws against parents teaching their children magic before school –"

"But we studied over summer," Harry pointed out.

"That was a crime," Hermione said. "That's why we only did magic in the park at Diagon – it was impossible to detect it there. We were fortunate we didn't start any fires or anything."

Harry blinked. It was a bit odd, to be informed that something you did months ago was illegal, and you've been a criminal ever since then. "Okay," he said slowly.

"I thought you knew, actually," Hermione said. "I read about that a few days after we met, so I naturally assumed that you knew, too."

"Glad I know now," Harry said flatly.

"Anyway," she said without much concern. "It's illegal to study magic before school. _However_ ," and here she leaned in close, "I found a loophole."

"Oh?" Harry said. His interest was now thoroughly piqued. He wondered if it was a kind of loophole that could be applied retroactively.

"Yes, Harry," she said. "It's really quite simple: if one of the members of the household – be it a parent, or an older sibling, or a cousin – has a Certification of Education, then they are allowed to give private lessons to any student over summer, perfectly legally."

"I see," Harry said. "And that includes the summer _before_ Hogwarts, too."

"Exactly," she said, beaming.

"But why don't the old blood families just get certified?"

"Oh, they _could_ ," Hermione said. "But they don't. And here we come to my hypothesis."

"Let's hear it."

"Well, I hypothesize that due to long-ingrained social norms, it's considered not just illegal, but _improper_ , to instruct one's children before they've gone off to Hogwarts."

"So," Harry said, "It's a social thing."

"Well, it's the _law_ ," Hermione said. "But it's a law that not all people take so seriously, since there's this obvious loophole. But old blood families can't afford to be caught teaching their children magic before Hogwarts with that loophole, because it would be a scandal. They could lose their positions. And even if they wanted to risk the scandal, and go through all of the work to get that certification and teach their children magic, it would be very difficult since people would want to know why such an important person was interested in becoming a summer tutor. It would raise eyebrow, and people would ask questions. So, they are forced to sacrifice the tiny edge that their children would have in school in order to preserve the social standing that their children will _need_ once school is over."

"But only old bloods have to worry about that," Harry concluded, "because they're the only ones who have such a high social standing that they won't risk it for anything."

"Yes," she said. "Although there are new bloods with good positions at the Ministry – even some department heads are new bloods or halfbloods like you, these days – that's just their job. They don't have the _social_ positions that are, actually, more important."

"What exactly do you mean by social position, though?"

"Well, those new bloods and halfbloods with high positions in the Ministry would not have been able to get them without a sponsor on the Wizengamot nominating them."

"That's like the House of Lords," Harry remembered.

"I'm glad you at least glanced at your history text," Hermione said. Harry blushed. "Yes, sort of. Not all of the witches and wizards on the Wizengamot are actually nobles, though, not in the muggle sense – although many of them are. They are, however, almost all old bloods."

"Almost?"

"Well, there are some special cases," she allowed. "You can also be given a seat by earning n Order of Merlin, First Class – but it's not hereditary, in that case. Once your family is recognized as old blood, that's when you get a hereditary seat."

"I see," Harry said. "And in order for someone with supposedly inferior breeding to get ahead, they need one of those members to be their patron."

"Unfortunately, yes," Hermione said.

"Are all countries like that, though?" Harry asked.

"No," she said. "Not remotely. Do you know about the Grindelwald wars?"

"I read the chapters on them yesterday," Harry said.

"Then you know that Britain remained neutral throughout," Hermione said. "There is a good reason for that, you know. The thing about Grindelwald is, he wanted a system of government similar to Britain's for the rest of Europe, too. He never had any reason to attack Britain, because Britain was one of the few countries he liked."

"Oh," Harry said. "It doesn't say that in the book."

"Well, it wouldn't, would it?" Hermione said. "They can't just print inconvenient information like that. Actually, that's just my interpretation of it."

Harry gave Hermione a thoughtful look. "You studied this a lot," he observed. "Enough to notice the discrepancies."

"Well, not everyone was able to go to Diagon to practice charms practically every single day," she said somewhat defensively.

Harry grinned at her. "No, it's good, though. I don't know anything about this stuff. You're probably seeing all kinds of things that I don't even notice."

She smiled, pinkening a bit.

"So, the Potters being an old family, do I have a seat on the Wizengamot?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Harry. Even though you're a halfblood, a family cannot _lose_ its seat by mixing, it only prevents them from being granted one."

"Does that come with a title?" he asked.

"Oh, lord."

"So, it's Lord Potter, is it?"

They were laughing still when Professor McGonagall came in and it was time for class to start. However, over the course of the lesson (which consisted of transfiguring a chicken's egg into a marble egg), they were able to continue their quiet conversation.

"Actually, the title is Warlock," Hermione said. "As in Warlock Potter. But you don't get the title until you resume your seat, which you can't do until you're at least seventeen. Until then, your seat is vacated. And it's a bit old-fashioned to use the title outside of Wizengamot meetings."

"Fascinating," Harry said. "It's too bad that the government is insane – but at least I get a cool title. _Warlock Potter_."

"You're unbelievable!" she said – but her outrage was tinged with amusement.

"Don't worry, I'll sponsor you," he said placatingly.

" _Honestly_ , Harry!"

They tried to contain their laughter to be quiet enough to not attract the teacher's attention: they failed. Professor McGonagall came over and said, "May I ask what is so amusing?"

The look on Hermione's face was pretty priceless, Harry had to admit. She had probably never attracted negative attention from a teacher before. Harry rushed to turn the situation around to a positive. "Sorry, Professor," he said. "It's my fault. I was just doing something a bit silly with the spell."

"You were doing something _silly_ with Transfiguration?" Professor McGonagall repeated, scandalized. "Mr. Potter, explain."

"I was making some pictures on my marble egg, you see," he said. He took his wand and performed the spell, and showed the result to the professor. It was a completely black marble egg except for white markings in the shape of a cat's face, with green spots for the eyes.

"My word," the professor said. "Excellent work, Mr. Potter. However, please do endeavor not to disrupt the class." She handed the egg back and walked away.

"We almost got in _trouble_ ," Hermione said, and her voice was, in fact, very troubled indeed.

"Well, let's buckle down, I suppose," Harry said. But there was little to do, really. He practiced the spell over and over again, getting more and more creative with the shapes and colors of the marble patterns – then making it hollow, then making it come apart like a Fabergé egg, then making the container into the shape of a rooster's head...

"I don't understand how you're so good at that," Hermione said.

"Just remember the principles," Harry said. "It's not unlike Potions, really."

"But that's what I'm _doing_ ," she said. "And it works – my marble egg is fine – but you make it look so easy."

Harry shrugged. It _was_ easy. For him, Transfiguration was even easier than Charms, and that was easy enough already. "Mr. Ollivander did say my wand was good for transfiguration work," he said. That was a lie. Mr. Ollivander had had a lot to say about his wand, but not that.

"But he said that _my_ wand was good for transfiguration, too," Hermione said, frustrated.

"Look around, though," Harry said. "You are doing very well."

They surveyed the class just in time to catch Ronald Weasley accidentally cracking his egg with a ferocious poke of the wand. Several other students had completed the transfiguration, but many more were struggling. "A lot of them never really got the matchstick-to-needle down," Harry said. "This isn't any harder, but they still should have kept working at that transfiguration until they could do it properly."

When the class was over, Professor McGonagall asked for Harry to stay behind for a private word. After assuring Hermione that he'd see her at lunch, Harry waited for the rest of the students to file out, then approached Professor McGonagall's desk.

"Professor," he said. "Sorry about the disruption earlier. It won't happen again."

"Hm? Oh, that. No, don't worry, Mr. Potter. It's perfectly natural that you were bored. That isn't to say that it should happen again, of course."

"Oh," Harry said. "Thank you. Er – so what did you wish to discuss?"

The professor rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Tea, Mr. Potter?"

"Please," he said. The professor clapped her hands and, to Harry's startlement, a creature that looked similar to a goblin appeared. The first difference Harry noticed was its choice of wardrobe: while goblins were partial to pin-stripe suits, polished leather shoes and gold pocket watches, this creature wore a red pillowcase with the Hogwarts crest on it, and had no shoes at all. The creature was carrying a tea set on a silver platter. As quickly as Harry's eyes could follow, it arranged two cups and a teapot on the desk, bowed to Professor McGonagall, and disappeared with a _pop_.

"What – ?" Harry said, eyes wide.

"Hm. You really do know so little," the professor said, eyeing him speculatively. "Oh, I mean no offense, Mr. Potter. But I must admit, considering how well you've been performing in all of your classes, I had been beginning to suspect that perhaps you were not quite as foreign to the wizarding world as you led others to believe. But that reaction just now was no stage-acting. Clearly, you've never seen, or likely never even heard of, a house-elf before."

"No," Harry agreed, but his mind was awhirl. This was some kind of interrogation, he realized. To buy time while he tried to process the situation and formulate a response, he said, "It's a servant?"

"Try the tea," the professor said. "It's a very nice Darjeeling."

Harry had a sip, but he was paying very close attention to his body and his mind. Accepting a drink from a witch was not, after all, the safest thing to do under any circumstances, least of all when being interrogated by them. But there didn't seem to be any effect. He felt foolish for his paranoia: of course, it would be insane for a teacher to give him potion in his tea. "It's very good," he said.

"I do enjoy it," she agreed.

"So, you thought I had contact with the wizarding world?" Harry said. "Would that have been a bad thing?"

"Oh, by no means," she said. "Forgive me, that is not what I meant to imply. If it were up to me, you never would have been removed from our world. But, things being as they are, it simply seemed odd. I can see now, however, that my suspicious were wrong-founded. You are simply a very bright child."

"Thank you," he said. He had no idea what she wanted from him, and he felt very uncomfortable. He sipped his tea quietly and watched her. She seemed to be in no great hurry to come to her point, however, so Harry said, "I wonder, why are you so interested in me?"

The professor smiled sadly at him. "Yes, it must seem odd to you," she said as if in sudden realization. "You have no way of knowing this, Mr. Potter, but in truth I was quite close to your parents. So naturally I am interested in your wellbeing."

"I see," Harry said, blinking rapidly. This was, he realized, the first time he had met anyone who had personally known his parents (other than his aunt, who actually had never met his father at all, and had fallen out with his mother when they were teenagers). Suddenly his mind was a rush of questions that he wanted to ask – but he held back, mindful of his initial suspicions. It would be unwise, he realized, to take to someone just because they knew his parents. Probably there were hundreds of people that knew them, but that did not mean that they all had his best interests at heart. "What exactly was your relationship to them?"

Professor McGonagall set down her teacup and seemed to think about this for a moment before she said, "I have instructed Transfiguration in this very classroom for many, many years, Mr. Potter, but never did I have such a remarkable student as your father. He was a progidy in every sense of the word. He was a mischief maker, it's true, but he was a good boy. And later, a good man. We would often have tea, just like this..." She trailed off, lost in thought. "We spoke of many things," she finally said.

"I see," Harry said.

Professor McGonagall eyed him strangely. "You are as similar in appearance to him as any son and father I've know," she said. "I must confess, when I first saw you Sunday evening, I had thought that you would be just like him."

Harry wondered if she expected him to apologize, or what. He wouldn't. He said, "As far as I can tell, I'm not much like anyone."

She laughed, just a small laugh, and her voice was sad when she said, "I suspect that that is true. Mr. Potter, I do not mean to detain you from your friends, who I'm sure your eager to get back to. But I want you to know that my door will always be open for you if you would like to talk, be it about Transfiguration or anything other."

At lunch, after Hannah chastised him for being late, all of the Puffs wanted to know what McGonagall had wanted. Harry said, "She told me that she was friends with my dad. And that I could come talk to her if I wanted to."

"Everyone was friends with your dad," Susan said. Neville, Ernie, Cerie and Hannah were all nodding. "He was insanely popular."

"Really?" Harry said.

Susan frowned at him. "Don't you know anything about your parents?" she asked cautiously.

Harry, looking around at the faces of Susan, Neville, Ernie, Cerie and Hannah, realized that he really didn't know anything about his parents. Here were a bunch of people that he had only met a few days ago, and they all knew more about his own parents than he did. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by emotion. He felt his eyes stinging – he didn't want to cry. How humiliating it would be, to just start crying in the middle of lunch. He bit his cheek, trying to distract himself. Susan handed him a vial. "What is it?" he said.

"Just drink," she said.

He trusted her, so he drank it, and then felt incredibly calm. It was like his emotions were not his own – they were things that he knew about, and could analyze, now. "I don't think I like this," Harry said.

"I know," Susan said. "Trust me, I know. But it's better than the alternative."

Harry had to agree. He felt so strange: almost like an out-of-body experience, it was an out-of-emotions experience. It was horrible in its own way, but it was better than breaking down into a sobbing puddle of snot and tears in the middle of the Great Hall. "Thanks," he said.

"It's okay," she said, smiling at him warmly.

"Sorry about that, everyone," Harry said.

"It's okay."

Ernie cleared his throat and adjusted his Hufflepuff tie and said, "More importantly, we've got to do something about that little creep."

"Zabini?" Harry asked to clarify, since he was aware of another boy that might fit that description.

"Yes, Zabini. We've got to … well, we should curse him, that's what we should do."

"You can't just curse him," Hermione said. "That's horrible. All he did was insult you."

" _All_ he did?" Ernie said, amazement on his face. "Isn't that enough?"

"No," Hermione said firmly.

"What about what he did in Charms?" Ernie said.

"What did he do in Charms?" she asked, having not witnessed the scene.

"He was such a creep to Harry," Ernie said. "He kept asking for Harry to demonstrate the wand motion..."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Hermione said, confused.

"You had to be there," Ernie said, waving his hand. "It was really creepy."

"Ernie is right," Harry said. In his current state of emotionlessness, it was plain to see: if they didn't do something about Zabini now, things would only get worse. "We should teach Zabini that prodding a badger isn't very smart."

"Harry!" Hermione said, shocked. "Do you really mean to curse him?"

Harry shook his head. "Not anything to hurt him," he said. "Just embarrass him. But he's not the only one. There's also the matter of Ronald Weasley."

"You mean that ginger idiot in Gryffindor?" Justin said. "What has he ever done? He doesn't even hold his wand right."

Neville said, "You mean you missed it? He was a right prat to Hermione in Charms today."

"No, no, _no_ ," Hermione said. "You're not using _me_ as a reason to do something like that!"

Harry frowned, confused. "Don't you want him to leave you alone?" he said.

"Whatever we do, that boy will probably fail school," she said. "I don't think he's worth bothering with."

"That's a point," Ernie said. "That idiot doesn't stand a chance at Hogwarts, if you look at it. He'll be Justin's brothers' problem next year."

Justin scowled. "Wasn't that an insult?"

Ernie waved him off. "Zabini, on the other hand, isn't going anywhere. So we should deal with him. It's like Harry said, he's gotta learn not to mess with Puffs."

Looking around at his peers, Harry saw that Susan, Justin, Wayne and Hannah were nodding in agreement. Neville and Cerie looked like they wished they didn't have to, but could see the reason. Megan was staring at her food again. Hermione said, "I really don't like this idea … but I won't snitch on another Puff."

"Megan, what do you think?" Harry asked.

The girl was startled, practically jumping in her seat. "What do I think?" she repeated. Everyone was staring at her. She looked around at all of their faces, her own face the picture in the dictionary under _uncertainty_. "It doesn't really have anything to do with me," she said quietly.

"Don't be like that!" Hannah said. "Of course it has to do with you. You're a badger, girl!"

She didn't look like much of a badger, though. She looked more like a mouse. She said, "I don't want him to cause any more trouble … but I don't think we should cause any trouble, either."

Susan put up her hand to forestall any of the others from saying anything, and she said, "We won't be causing trouble. We will be preventing future trouble."

Megan looked at Susan. Susan smiled reassuringly. Megan nodded. "Okay," she said. "Let's curse the git."

"There's that Puff pride!" Hannah exclaimed, beaming at Megan. The others were all cheering for her, too – even Hermione, Harry saw, looked pretty happy.

Collectively, the Puffs of first year decided to not decide on anything straight away. They would all think about it for the rest of the day, and meet up after dinner to figure out who had the most devious (but not actually painful) plan to embarrass (but not completely humiliate) Zabini – parenthetical clauses by Hermione. They still had Potions after lunch, and then about four hours to put their badger-shit crazy minds to the task, so there was plenty of time for their hard-working minds to come up with something spectacular (but not overblown).

Harry wanted to do it without asking Becca for help. It would earn him some credibility as a viable disciple of Our Lady the Saint of Mischief, after all. If he just went to Becca and asked her to help him prank Zabini, she probably would have done – but it wouldn't raise her opinion of him. So he wanted it to be a firsties-only project. He wanted to prove to Becca and Tosha and Frankie that they had the right stuff to continue the legacy of Our Lady.

It would not, Harry realized, be easy.

First of all, not a one of them knew a single jinx (and Harry still hadn't borrowed that book from Becca). This limited their options to Ernie's dungbombs and whatever they could come up with on their own – and Ernie's dungbombs weren't enough, not on their own.

During Potions, Harry, once again working in isolation, had to put his mind to his work and put thoughts of pranking aside. BrewPotion, his mental program, was able to tell him what would be the result of any particular sequence of ingredients. So his first step was just to look at the recipe provided and run it through BrewPotion. The result of it, he could see, would definitely cure foot fungus, and probably most any other kind of body-related fungus, including yeast infections (although it would have to be applied topically, which might be an issue). However, before he set to work he tried tinkering a bit with the parameters to see if he could get any other interesting results to come out. After running a few dozen simulations in his mind, Harry concluded that it was possible with only minimal alteration to the recipe to create a potion that would cure fungus in only a few minutes, as opposed to taking hours for it to work. So, Harry raised his hand.

"You have a question, Mr. Potter?" the professor said darkly.

"Professor, I was wondering if I could make use of a pair of boomslang eyes?"

The professor's face was a blank mask other than his eyes narrowing a fraction. "Are you planning to change the recipe again, Mr. Potter?" he asked.

"Yes, Professor," Harry said evenly.

Professor Snape glared at Harry. Harry glared back. All of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years looked back and forth between them. Harry felt a bead of sweat roll down from his temple. Professor Snape's eyes ever so slowly narrowed further as he glared at the young student. Seconds passed that felt much longer. Finally, he said, "Are you aware of the risks of adding such a volatile ingredient?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Have you thought of how you will prepare the eyes, and at what stage you will add them?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Have considered the different level of heat that you will need to apply to the potion at the critical stage?"

Now that the professor had said that, Harry did. Good thing, too, since it would have exploded if he didn't reduce the heat after adding the eyes. He would have to make a note to patch BrewPotion when he found the time. Trying not to imagine the fungal burns (yes, magical fungi can cause fungal burns) that would have resulted, he said, "Yes, Professor."

The professor stared at him again for another long while. Harry realized that this entire time – almost a minute – the teacher had not blinked. There was no clock in the room, but Harry would swear that he heard a second hand ticking its way slowly around one. Finally, Professor Snape said, "The boomslang eyes are on the shelf there. You may use only two."

"Thank you, Professor."

Harry's potion went smoothly enough, considering, but frankly by the end of the brew he was wondering if it had been worth it. True, his potion was better than the one Professor Snape had written on the board, but it was also considerably more difficult to actually brew. At one point Harry realized why it was so cold in the Potions lab when a drop of sweat fell into his cauldron. As he watched the droplet fall from his face into the potion, Harry thought about all of the things he hadn't done, and all of the people he had never told he loved, and prepared himself for the worst. Nothing happened, though, and he breathed a huge sigh of relief that made many of the nearby students nervous. Sweat, he would later learn, has no magically significant properties other than making brewing potions uncomfortable when you're covered in it.

Since Harry's modified formula required him to lower the heat and let the potion simmer ever so slightly, rather than boil turbulently like the other students' potions, Harry ended up being the very last person to finish brewing, quite in contrast to the previous Potions class. When he took the vial up to Professor Snape, the man took it from his hand much more cautiously than he had on Monday.

Professor Snape turned it over to check the viscosity. Then he put it in front of his desk light to better see the color and check for precipitate out of suspension. Then he unstoppered it and took a whiff of it.

"Potter," Professor Snape said slowly. "Where did you find this recipe?"

"I didn't find it anywhere, sir," Harry said. "It just occurred to me that the boomslang eyes would increase the speed of effect of the potion without any negative side-effects. It was a no-brainer to add them."

Professor Snape stared long at Harry once more. "I will know if you are lying, Mr. Potter," he said.

"Professor, it occurs to me that if that were true, then you wouldn't need to say it." Harry did not smile, but it was a close thing.

Professor Snape blinked. Harry thought the corner of the professor's lip might have twitched. Then again, Harry had imagined things before. "Indeed," he said. "A no-brainer that just occurred to you. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry said. He wished that he had phrased his explanation without the colloquialism, now that the words were being repeated back to him by his professor. He stood there stonily.

"I will need to test your concoction more thoroughly before I grade it," the professor said after another long pause. "You may leave."

"Professor," Harry said with a slight nod, and left.

Hermione was sitting in the dark subterranean hall reading by wandlight what Harry recognized as her enchanting book. He saw that she was almost at the end of it. "Learn anything fun?" he said.

Hermione was startled. Apparently she hadn't heard him come out of the classroom. "Oh, yes!" she said. "But more importantly, what was that all about?"

"Hm?"

"Boomslang eyes are very dangerous ingredients, Harry," she said. "And they don't have any anti-fungal properties. So why –?"

"Ah – that," he said. "No, I didn't add them for anti-fungal properties. The potion was already quite good at that. But it was a slow-acting potion. I thought that if I had a great big fungus on my foot, I'd want it gone right away, not a few hours later. Boomslang eyes can quicken catalyzation."

"I see," she said. "It turns it into a quick-acting potion." She thought it about it for a considerable length longer, and Harry was about to ask her if she was ever going to stand up so they could get going, when she said, "But how did you know to add them?"

Harry frowned. He thought he would sound very strange if he explained that he had a computer program running in his brain that brewed potions for him. He had lied to Hermione often enough that he could lie to her again, now, he supposed. He wanted to be honest with her – he wanted to be trustworthy to her – but he was afraid that she would think he was mad if he told her the truth. "If you just think about the Sixteen Laws, and the properties of the ingredients, it's easy to figure out what will do what," he said.

Hermione shook her head. She shut her book, put it in her bag, and accepted Harry's hand to help her up. She held on to his hand, staring at it. "You're really special," she said after a while. She looked up at him with a watery-eyed grin. "Do you know that? I don't know why you bother with me, sometimes."

"Come off it," he said. He hesitated for a while, then said, "I think you're really special, too."

He watched a tear trail slowly down her cheek. It fell to the stone. He hugged her. He said, "You know, if that Weasley guy says anything else to you, I am going to curse him."

"Don't. But thanks. How did you know I was still upset about that?"

"I didn't," he said. "But I'm still upset about it."

She kissed his cheek.

It was a long, quiet, comfortable walk back to the Entrance Hall.

"Do you want to check out that courtyard?" Harry asked. "The one they mentioned on Monday."

"It sounded ever so lovely," she said.

The courtyard, when they found it, really was lovely, albeit slightly dilapidated. It was also, unfortunately, massively crowded. Apparently the Hufflepuff first years were far from the first ones to discover it: rather, it seemed like a favorite place for couples to go. Every time they looked behind a pillar or rock, hoping for there to be a nice place to sit, it was either covered in gravel or there was a couple, or a few friends, already occupying it. There were dozens of cozy places to sit, but they were all being sat in. "This is dreadful," Harry said, disheartened. "I mean it's a lovely place but it's too crowded."

Hermione was looking around, too. "I would say let's check out the Quidditch Pitch lawn, but it looks like it's being used, too."

Looking towards the Pitch, Harry saw that there were indeed several ant-like figures zipping around above it. "There's definitely seating, though," he said. Actually, he was rather interested in seeing what the fliers were doing. "I'd like to see them fly. Come on, let's go."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "This is going to be a thing, now, isn't it?" she said.

"Thing?"

"You, dragging me off to Quidditch-related stuff."

"I hope so," he said. "I really do want to be Seeker. And you'll be watching all of my games, of course."

"Of course. Why, again? I mean, why do you want to be the team Seeker?"

They were far enough away from the courtyard, and still plenty far from the Quidditch Pitch, that he felt that he could speak freely about it. "I have a confession," he said.

"Oh?"

"I lied this morning. I didn't want everyone else to know this, but … You're going to keep this secret, right?"

"If you want it to be a secret," she said, "Then it'll be a secret. Whatever it is."

Harry nodded. He was glad he had people he could trust in his life. "Thank you," he said. "I didn't learn how to fly over the summer."

"You don't know how to _fly_?" Hermione said. "How do you expect to be Seeker, then? Try outs are next week!"

Harry shook his head. "That's not it. I mean, I didn't learn _over the summer_. I learned how to fly last night."

She stared at him in shock. "What do you mean?"

Even though he _did_ trust her, that was no reason to go around incriminating other people. So he said, "I borrowed someone's broom and snuck out last night." That was true, actually. "I was really safe, don't worry." That part was a lie. "I'm not going to do it again, if you don't want me to." Why would he even say that? Of course he was going to do it again! He only had a week to become the best flier in Hufflepuff! He didn't have to say that! What was he thinking!

Hermione was shaking her head. "I'm amazed," she said. "I mean, how did you even find the time?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't need a lot of sleep," he said. Actually, thinking about it, Harry was pretty amazed that he was still awake. That Auror grade Power-Through Potion really worked wonders. A single sip and he was still wide awake, twelve hours later.

"Didn't it occur to you how reckless it was to go out there by yourself? I mean, flying a broom alone in the middle of the night would be dangerous enough _if you knew how to fly_!"

"Did I say I was alone?" Harry asked. No, he hadn't, not exactly. He had only implied it. Implications can be taken back easily enough. "I was with an older student."

"Who?"

Harry looked at her carefully. "I'll tell you because you promised to keep it secret," he reminded her. "It was Becca Albright. You remember Sonny Albright? That's his sister. She's really nice."

Hermione nodded slowly. "And does she know how to fix a broken neck?" she asked pointedly.

"Er – I didn't ask," Harry said. "But really, we were _very_ safe."

"Did you wear your helmet and everything?" Hermione asked.

Harry blinked. "Hermione, people don't wear helmets on broomsticks."

"Well, maybe they should!" she suddenly yelled. "I don't know how you could do something so _stupid_ , Harry! You could have _died_ , do you know that? Then what would I do?"

"Hermione," Harry said slowly. "I _am_ going to play Quidditch. And you _are_ going to be at my games, aren't you?"

But she didn't say another word on the way to the Pitch, or on their way up the stairs to the bleachers, which turned out to consist of a rather odd assortment of chairs. After they sat down and had watched the students flying around for a while (it was a group of Gryffindors who seemed to be getting ready for their own try outs), Hermione said, "It's completely mad."

"What is?"

"I'm terrified just sitting here, we're so high up. And those lunatics, look at them! They're _trying_ to get themselves killed."

Harry shook his head in realization. "Hermione," he said gently. "What you're describing is a fear of heights. You're perfectly safe sitting here. And that's not just grass under them, there are spells on it. It's very rare for people to get seriously injured in Quidditch. Well, not _very_ rare, but it doesn't happen at _every_ game." _You really have a way with words_ , he thought. "It's as safe as football."

"I know that," she said. "But it still seems mad."

"I'm a lot better than those guys," Harry said. "If one of them is going to be Seeker for Gryffindor, they're going to lose every time. I can be really good at this, Hermione."

"I really just don't understand why you want to play at all," she said. "You're not _sporty_ , Harry. You're more like me."

"I think that I can be sporty," he said. "I think it'll be really good for me."

She rolled her eyes. "What do you even mean by that?" she said. "I mean, it's not even exercise, really."

"It _is_ exercise, first of all," Harry said. "It's pretty exhausting, actually."

"Fine," she said. "But it still isn't _you_ , is it?"

He sighed. "It's totally _me_ , Hermione."

"I just don't see it."

" _Who do you see_?" he suddenly snapped. He hadn't meant to snap at her, but he had. "Look at me. Who am I?"

In her eyes, he could see that she understood. "You're Harry Potter," she said distantly. "The Boy-Who-Lived. The wunderkind of the wizarding world."

Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I'm sorry for snapping," he said.

"It's all right. I get it, Harry. You go around wearing this crown of thorns … I forgot about it, and I let myself get cut."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I really do love flying," he said. "It's not like it's a great sacrifice or anything. It's going to be a lot of fun. I'm going to love it. But I don't really have any choice, either, do I? Because don't you remember what Ernie said this morning?"

"Yeah, I remember," she said.

Harry repeated it anyway. "He said of course I'll make the team – of course Harry Potter will make the team, because Harry Potter is a legend."

"I know," she said. "I get it, all right?"

They were quiet for a while, watching the Gryffindor fliers. Eventually, Harry said, "I really need your support in this, Hermione. It'll drive me nuts knowing that you're against this."

She nodded. "You have my support," she said. "I still think Quidditch is mad … but you're mad already. So you have my support."

He snorted. "Thanks."

A pause. Then Hermione said, "You're really better than those Gryffindors?"

Harry grinned.

Pretty soon, Hermione got her book out and went back to reading. Harry continued staring at the fliers, first with interest, and then, after realizing that there really wasn't anything to learn from them, just to have something to look at as he thought about something else: Zabini.

Harry felt a bit bad about it. Not for plotting to embarrass Zabini – he felt good about that – but for not suggesting it the day before, after the boy had been such an wanker to Ernie. Harry realized that he should have had the idea himself when his friend was insulted. Instead, Ernie suggested it after _Harry_ was insulted. Harry wondered if that made Ernie a better friend than he was. Harry remembered how he had just been weirded out by Ernie pretending to act calm, and had never thought to do anything to help him.

But the important thing, he supposed, was that they would be doing something now. And Harry had the beginnings of what he thought was a pretty good plan.

Hermione soon noticed that Harry was sitting there in a sort of trance. She could see his eyes darting around like someone in a fever dream. She said, "Harry?"

"Hm?"

"What are you doing, Harry?"

"Trying to come up with a potion," he said. He was running simulations in BrewPotion. They all kept exploding or melting the cauldron, though.

Hermione shook her head in amusement and went back to reading.

Harry scoffed in annoyance half an hour or so later. "I still don't know enough about potions," he said.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, I was able to figure out how to reverse the effects of the Boil-Cure and Foot Fungus Potions, to make them cause boils or cause foot fungus," he said. "But that's just gross, isn't it? So I don't really want to do that." Harry got out his text and started flipping through it. "The problem," he said, "Is that there's nothing really funny here. Cure scabs … cure the measels … whiten teeth –"

"They have a potion that whitens teeth?" Hermione said, shocked. "Let me see that."

"Haven't you already read this?" Harry said, amused.

"Not the whole thing, no. Wow, that's incredible. The muggles would pay a fortune for something like this."

Harry laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, just listen to you. 'The muggles would pay a fortune.' You're already getting used to this world."

She shrugged. "I'm adaptable," she said. "Anyway, this is really incredible. It works in just minutes."

"Your teeth are already white. Give me my book back," he said, snatching it. "Let's see … various varnishes to protect wood … and metal … this one empties your stomach so you can eat more, that's lovely … oh, this is interesting."

"The Forgetfulness Potion," Hermione read over his shoulder. "Causes a person to forget to do something. Harry, it's definitely a fascinating potion, but I don't see how it could be used to play a prank on someone."

"What if we caused him to forget to put on his clothes before leaving his dorm?" Harry said with a smirk.

"That's disgusting. _No_."

Harry rubbed his chin. "No, you're right, I don't see how to use this potion for a prank, either. Unless forgetting your keys is a prank. But it might be good for other things. Especially if you modify it a bit. Hang on..." Following a hunch, he ran a few simulations. "You could make a potion that causes you to forget a whole day if you just add powedered black widow legs here instead of chameleon claws. Actually, with a little modification, I think you could make a potion to help you remember things in the past, or to later remember things that happen while the potion is in your system."

"That would be invaluable," Hermione realized. "People would kill for something like that."

Harry nodded. "It's a project for another day, though," he said. "Making someone have a madeleine episode isn't really a prank." He started flipping through the book again. "Here's something we could use! The Babbling Beverage: causes the drinker to babble incoherent nonsense."

"What does that mean? Like random words?"

Harry read further. "It's more like stringing together random facts," he said. "Like you might say something like 'the sky is blue and I love pie so the muggles landed on the moon and Elvis died.'"

"That could be amusing," Hermione said. "It wouldn't hurt him, just make him look silly."

Harry grinned, glad to have his friend on board. "We can modify it a bit," he said. "I think I can combine it with the remembering potion."

Hermione frowned. "We can't just give him an untested potion," she said. "That's dangerous, isn't it?"

"I think I can do it, though," Harry said. "I'll test it on myself first."

"Harry! You _can't_!" Hermione said, aghast.

"Hermione, that's how new potions are invented. They have to be tested on someone, so naturally the inventor takes them. Actually, if you think about it, it makes sense: you know that any potion you buy in the shop isn't going to kill you, because if it killed you then the brewer that invented it wouldn't be able to sell it, would he?"

Hermione's frown deepened. "That really doesn't sound very scientific," she said.

Harry waved off her concerns, however. "We're going to be enchanters, aren't we? Enchanters have to test their own products, too, you know. Every step you take forward is a risk, but that doesn't mean you should just wait around."

Hermione scowled outright. "I'm not standing in the way of progress, Harry. I'm just trying to prevent you from doing something mad."

"It'll be safe," he said. "Because you'll be there with me when I test it."

At dinner that evening, all of the Puffs seemed very excited to share their ideas. However, they diligently waited, keeping their mouths shut until dinner was over, and they were able to sneak of to the dungeon-level classroom where Harry and Hermione had spoken to Terry and Sonny two days before.

"Is this a good place for us to be?" Justin said. "I mean, we're in Slytherin territory, aren't we?"

"The basement level isn't Slytherin territory any more than the ground floor is Hufflepuff territory," Harry stated firmly. "We have every right to be here."

Susan grinned. "I agree with Harry. The Slytherins can't claim the whole dungeons as their turf. We can be here if we want to be here."

"That sounds really good, but ..." Wayne trailed off, looking around at the rather dark and creepy classroom they were in, illuminated only by the clinical white light of Harry and Hermione's Torch Light Charms. (Unlike the narrow beam of light given off by a regular _Lumos_ , the _Lumos Facis_ gave off light in all directions.) "It is a bit creepy down here, isn't it?"

"Ha!" Ernie laughed. "There's nothing creepy about this place. It _is_ a bit filthy, though," he added, rubbing at some stain on the floor with his shoe.

Harry cleared his throat. "All right, let's sound off!"

They all looked at him in confusion. "What're you talking about, Harry?" Hannah asked.

"Oh, well I thought it might be fun if we all said something like a motto before these secret meetings. You know, to get us in the spirit of things."

Ernie scowled. "I'm not singing a song," he said.

"I was thinking," Harry said, "Of something like:

 _Hufflepuffs have more fun!_

 _Hufflepuffs get shit done!_

 _Never enough!_

 _Puff Puff Puff!_ "

They were all staring at him like he was a raving lunatic. "I actually like it," Ernie said. "You're an idiot, but I like it."

"It's amazing!" Hannah said. "I love it!"

There being a general consensus, the group sounded off. Hermione changed the words to _Hufflepuffs get things done_ , but it still counted.

"Now that the _formalities_ are out of the way," Susan said with an eye roll. "How are we cursing Zabini?"

"I've got dungbombs," Ernie supplied. They all told him that he had said that earlier.

"We could slip him a potion at breakfast," Susan said. "There's a laxative potion, for example."

"Gross, Susan!" Hannah said. "You're so weird sometimes."

"I was thinking the same thing, actually," Harry said once he was pretty sure there were no more ideas forthcoming from the group.

"We're _not_ making him shit himself at breakfast!" Hannah exclaimed. " _That's so disgusting_! I can't believe you would even suggest that! It's completely revolting. I mean, we're trying to prank Zabini, not make everyone in the Great Hall sick!"

"Er –" Harry said. "No, I mean, not a laxative potion."

"Oh," Hannah said.

"Yeah. Anyway. I was thinking about it before dinner and I've come up with a pretty great potion. Or rather a combination of two potions." Harry proceeded to explain his idea. Neville, Susan, Hannah, Ernie, Justin, Cerie and Hermione were nodding along. Wayne's eyes sort of just glazed over as he stared at something over Harry's shoulder. Megan was staring at Harry's knees, but he thought she understood. "I was flipping through my Potions book and I came across the Babbling Beverage. It makes people say all kinds of random nonsense for a few minutes. I was thinking, well that could be pretty hilarious, but it needs a bit more _salt_ , you know? Then I thought I could combine the Babbling Beverage with a reversal of the Forgetfulness Potion targeted towards Zabini's early years – in other words, a potion that would make him remember his childhood. In theory, I believe this will cause him to say all kinds of embarrassing things about when he was a little kid."

Susan's eyes were shining. "Brilliant! And we combine _that_ blend with a laxative potion, and –"

"No, no, _NO_!" Hannah exclaimed.

"Only joking, Hannah," Susan said, laughing.

"All right, so here's the breakdown," Harry said. "We have two potions to brew, one of which is experimental. Hermione, Neville and I will take care of that –"

"Me?" Neville said. "Harry, I'm not very good at potions."

"You're great at potions," Harry said. "You're just bad at dealing with spooky Professor Snape. You'll be great. Everyone else, put your heads together and come up with a delivery system. We need a way to get Zabini to drink this concoction. And remember, don't let _anyone_ know about this."

Justin said, "All right, let's bring it in team!" and stuck out his hand. The muggleborns all stacked their hands on top of his, and then the others followed along too. They gave another chant of,

" _Hufflepuffs have more fun!_

 _Hufflepuffs get shit done!_

 _Never enough!_

 _Puff Puff Puff!_ " and threw their hands in the air with a cheer.

Harry took a moment to take in their happy, bright-eyed faces before they all filed out of the room.

* * *

Some notes:

Thanks for reading! And, as always, I appreciate feedback. Feel free to drop me a PM!

I would have posted this yesterday but ffn bugs strike again! Well, it's here now. Nice and meaty for ya, too!

Cheers!


	7. Chapter 7

The Tinkerer

Chapter 7

Harry wanted to get started brewing that very night. Unfortunately, his body had other ideas. He ended up passing out just as soon as he sat down in a comfy chair by the Central Hearth, and it was only with Neville's help that he managed to make it to bed, where he slept with his clothes still on. Neville made sure he had at least taken off his shoes and glasses.

Having fallen asleep at around seven thirty, he woke up way too early and could not get back to sleep. Lying in his bed in the dark, he occupied his mind with trying to come up with a reversal to the Forgetfulness Potion. It took hours, and he wasn't entirely sure, at the end, if what he had come up with would work. His stomach was growling, but it wasn't time for breakfast yet. He got up and took a shower.

Creating the inverse of a potion was relatively simple. Generally, in order to make a potion that, for example, causes a disease instead of curing it, all that was necessary was to figure out what specific ingredient or set of ingredients had the right numbers associated with them to produce a negative instead of a positive. This could generally be done either by adding one ingredient (for example, Harry believed that a Boil-Causing Potion, the inverse of the first potion he had ever brewed, could be created just by adding netterjack toad skin in with the horned slugs in the first phase) or by removing one ingredient (Harry believed that if someone were to make the Foot Fungus Cure without any pine nut powder, the resulting potion would cause fungus to spontaneously grow on any skin it was applied to). In other cases, the best thing to do to create a potion's opposite would be to substitute out an ingredient for another – both adding and subtracting. In other cases, it would be necessary to add or subtract several ingredients since there was no single ingredient available that had the correct properties associated with it to produce the desired result. And of course, due to the fact that the Sixteen Laws iterated in a specific order, sometimes all that was required to make an inverse potion was to switch two steps of the brewing process.

All if this was simple enough if you just took the time to think it through.

The problem that Harry was having was that the potion he wanted to use on Zabini was not exactly the opposite of the Forgetfulness Potion. The Forgetfulness Potion would cause someone to just forget to do something: its inverse, then, would simply make sure that the drinker definitely remembered to do whatever it was that they were supposed to remember to do. A useful potion, no doubt, but not what Harry required for the task at hand. Still, he did make note of it, naming it the Forget-Me-Not Potion.

What would be required was an inverse of a modified form of the Forgetfulness Potion. Harry could see various ways to modify the Forgetfulness Potion. For example, by taking out the fire algea sprouts, the potion would cause someone to become generally forgetful, rather than forget a specific thing (he got a bit creative and called it the Negligently Absent-Minded Potion). And by substituting the chameleon claws for black widow legs, it would cause someone to forget the whole day (a brew he thought of as the Day-Away Potion). Of course, these potions would need to be actually brewed, along with their antidotes, and tested to confirm that they worked as predicted.

Most importantly, Harry realized that by making the chameleon claw-black widow leg swap of the Day-Away, and then adding a separately-prepared mix of powdered ginger and shrivelfig juice, a potion would be produced that would cause one to forget an entire segment of the one's life. As it was, this potion would, Harry believed, cause the drinker to forget the current day and several months in either direction (although he wasn't sure what forgetting the future _meant_ , he was fairly confident that it would happen). This potion he mentally referred to as the Can't-Recall Potion. One could then add a specific amount of powdered locust shell to determine the segment length, and a specific amount of jabberwocky saliva to determine the segment's focal point, in order to target and erase a chosen segment of a person's life. Now instead of the simple Can't-Recall Potion, one would have a potion to blot out targeted time periods. This brew Harry thought of as the Targeted Can't-Recall Potion. (Harry, who realized how dangerous such a potion was, was glad that the effects would be reversable. He would have to write down the recipe for its antidote, just in case.)

The problem now was turning the Targeted Can't-Recall Potion into a Madeleine Episode Potion, which is what he really needed for the Zabini prank. This would be a potion that would cause one to _vivdly_ recall a targeted segment of memory.

However, because he had not actually tested the Targeted Can't-Recall Potion, and could not be sure if it even worked, there was no way to know if its inverse would work, either. Nor would it do him any good to keep ruminating over the matter – the only thing left to do was to test the Targeted Can't-Recall Potion and see if it worked, and if it _did_ , to go from there. Harry was quite nervous about drinking a potion designed to make you forget your childhood, but in the name of science he was willing.

He did, however, come up with inverses of the simpler modifications, the Day-Away Potion and the Negligently Absent-Minded Potion. These were simple enough that he was confident they would work, although of course they would need to be tested, too. The Day-to-Stay Potion would make the day that one consumed it stand out vividly in memory for the rest of the drinker's life, or until they had the antidote. The Diligently Retentive Memory Potion would make it almost impossible to forget something learned while the potion was working. Harry was eager to brew these two because he thought that he could market them.

By the time he was done with his shower, Harry realized that he would need to get more of the Puffs on the potion-brewing team if they were going to try out all of his experiments. Considering how many useful potions could be derived from a simple Forgetfulness Potion, Harry thought that he could probably squeeze an entire encyclopedia out of the 442 recipes in _Magical Draughts and Potions_.

Having had about his fill of thinking about potion-brewing, Harry settled down in a nice chair in the Common Room after he finished getting himself ready as quietly as he could, trying not to wake the other boys. It was, according to the clock, a few minutes before six. Harry took a quill and wrote the number six on his left arm, then settled in to read.

To his surprise, not long after he had settled in with his enchanting book did he find himself joined by Susan, who plopped herself down on the neighboring chair. Being an early riser seemed to be a side-effect that affected several Puffs, nor had Harry come down quite so early as he had Tuesday, so they were far from alone sitting around the Hearth, but for some reason he felt quite surprised to see her. "Good morning," he said with an easy smile. He hoped that his surprise did not show, particularly since he could not identify its reason.

She just smiled and stared at him for quite a while, until he was beginning to feel rather nervous. He didn't know if he should just ignore it and carry on reading, or say something. Finally, she let him off the hook, saying, "You're always so wrapped up in your head, Harry."

"Yes," he said. "It's one of my defining traits, I think."

She smiled. "It isn't the only one, though," she said. "Do you fancy a walk before breakfast?"

So Harry found himself being led out of the castle and down the long path that led to the caretaker's hut and stables and little farm.

"That was really sweet of you, Tuesday," she said.

It took Harry a rather long time to realize what she meant. She was refering to their little conversation about crows during History class. But it was a moment that Harry rather enjoyed the memory of as it was – he didn't particularly want to change it by discussing it. So he said nothing.

Susan waited a very long time to see if he would respond. The lawn they walked across was very wet, and it was still quite cold out. He wondered if she was cold. Susan said, "It was really sweet of you, not to say anything about my parents."

"Oh," Harry said. He hadn't known that he had been caught. But she had been sitting next to him. Of course she could have seen what page he had open, if she looked. He hadn't noticed her looking. "Not really," he said.

"It's all right to talk about them." She stopped walking and stood facing him. " _Harry_. It's all right to talk about them."

She was referring to his parents, not hers. "I know," he said. "Thank you for the potion, by the way."

She shook her head, smiling sadly. They just stood there for a while. Harry wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. It looked to him like Susan was fine saying nothing.

"You were right," he admitted. "I don't know anything about them." He thought that this should make him sad, but the words just came out as words. He did not feel like he had felt at lunch the day before.

"That was really cruel of me," she said. "I shouldn't have just blurted that out."

She was being kind to him. She hadn't just blurted it out, she had said it very carefully and tactfully. But now she was being kind to him by making it seem like it had been her mistake, like she had no right to ask such a fundamental question. _Don't you know anything about your parents?_

He envied her, for having Amelia Bones as an aunt. He did love his own aunt, but it was always a strange and strained relationship, and she could not tell him any of the things he needed to know. He actually got on better with his uncle, who had never met his parents and had nothing at all to say about them. That man saw Harry's value and nurtured it in his gruff, professional way – it was an easy-to-understand relationship. While there was no love at all between Harry and his uncle, they got on better than he did with his aunt.

He had not missed either one of them while he had been in America for those six weeks, nor would he miss them while he was here at Hogwarts.

Harry saw Susan, now. Her amber eyes sparked with the wisdom that comes from love and sorrow. Her life must have been such a wonderful adventure, he realized, growing up with Our Lady the Saint of Mischief, the Head of the Law Enforcement Department, member of the Wizengamot – one of the most wise and respected members of their society, but also someone who had a deep sense of humor and love of joy.

He felt such envy.

"It wasn't cruel," he said. "You just caught me off-guard. It's all right."

Susan nodded. "I don't know your life, Harry," she said. "But I think that, if you told me, I would be able to understand. Breakfast?"

He nodded and they walked back to the castle in silence. They walked very close together. When they came to the entrance, Harry stopped and turned to her and said, "Thank you."

"It's all right," she said.

Harry laughed, suddenly, and it caught in his throat. His throat felt heavy, like when you have a very bad cold. Susan looked at him with patient expectation. Harry said, "I can't, you know? I can't talk about my parents. I don't know what to say about them."

Susan's eyes welled up and the corners of her lips pinched in. He thought she was going to hug him. He didn't want her to. He jerked his head in the direction of the entrance and went in. He felt wrong.

Harry was relieved that they were the first Hufflepuffs in their year to arrive for breakfast. He didn't want to have to explain he and Susan had been. He was so tired of lying to everyone about everything. They sat side-by-side and ate eggs and toast and spoke very little until their friends started filtering in. Ernie and Justin came in first, and Ernie sat right between him and Susan. Harry had not noticed how very far apart they had been sitting.

"Another day, eh?" Justin said as he helped himself to an unhealthy dosage of sausage and bacon.

Harry laughed. "You're going to be a right fat turkey for Christmas, eating like that."

"I can't help it, mate. I'm a growing boy, aren't I?"

"It's revolting," Ernie said, turning up his nose.

"Get bent, Weasley-wanker!"

"How _dare_ you!"

"Let me eat in peace then!"

"Eat like a human being then!"

"The hell does it matter to you, anyway?"

Harry, sitting in between them, grinned. "You're both idiots," he said.

Ernie snorted. "You must think everyone's an idiot, though," he said, like being called an idiot by Harry wasn't a terrible thing at all.

"Well, I think you're an idiot," Justin said.

"You wouldn't know a dragon egg from a wasp nest, Finch-Fletchley!"

That morning when the post came, Harry got the six books he had ordered from Flourish and Blott's, along with his change and a receipt. Fortunately for the owl, and Harry, the six books were packaged in what seemed to be a simple leather pouch but which had space-expanding and feather-light charms applied on it. He only wondered how long the charms would last before his bookbag was suddenly overstuffed and back-breakingly heavy. Also, the enchanting supply store had sent back the quote for the four sets of gear: a whopping 126 galleons and change. Eyes bulging, he was glad he had decided not to order any enchanting books. He had taken five hundred galleons with him to Hogwarts, which meant that after the Chinese books and the enchanting supplies, he would have three hundred and forty-nine galleons, ten sickles and four knuts. Becca had hinted to Harry that she had some plan to in mind to get him to Diagon Alley, but he now concluded that even if her plan failed, then he still had enough to cover a fairly decent broomstick if he was willing to risk sending all that gold off with an owl. The problem with that, though, was that he'd have desperately little gold left over to cover any expenses that might come up.

Harry wrote the number eight on his left arm before they all left for Herbology. The Hufflepuffs made their way to Herbology rather early that morning, but a few of the Slytherin students were already there: Draco, Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle were all sitting in the corner furthest from the entrance. Draco waved and called Harry's name, so he came over after flashing a grin to his Housemates that told them not to worry.

"Hey, Draco," he said. "Parkinson. Er –" He didn't know which was Crabbe and which was Goyle. "Everybody."

"Harry, I really should have introduced you more properly to my friends. This is Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe."

"Nice to meet you all," Harry said. The others all nodded. Vincent Crabbe gave Harry's hand a very firm handshake that was just barely not painful enough to be an obvious act of aggression. Gregory Goyle's handshake, to Harry's surprised relief, was considerably less intimidating and painful while still quite firm. Pansy Parkinson curtseyed. "So, how are you doing, Draco?"

"Rather annoyed, to be honest, Harry," he said. "Oh, not at you, of course. As I'm sure you noticed, I witnessed that little incident in Charms yesterday morning. You must understand, Harry, that people like Zabini are not representative of us."

"Of course I know that, Draco," Harry said with a big, friendly smile. "I'm sure there's no way you would be associated with him. And besides, it was Miss Parkinson – Pansy? If I may? – that came to my aid."

Draco's posture relaxed as he nodded, smiling. "I'm glad you understand," he said. "I had been worried that you might hold his gross misconduct against all of us. However, that brings us to the next matter."

Draco glanced over at Goyle. Goyle said, in voice that was both alarmingly deep and vastly more articulate than Harry had expected, "The matter of punishment. You see, Mr. Potter, it's unfortunate, but we simply cannot allow incidents like that to go unchecked. However, in Draco's wisdom, we thought it better to consult you before deciding on Zabini's judgement."

"I see," Harry said.

"So tell us, Mr. Potter," Gregory Goyle said, leaning forward. "How shall Zabini suffer?"

To say that Harry was a bit alarmed was like saying it's not a very bright idea to take a bath in goat blood and try to pet a dragon. He managed, he thought, to remain composed. "Mr. Goyle," he said. "Draco. It would upset me to see this trifling incident put any undue strain on relations within your House. Rest assured that the matter of Zabini's punishment is already well in hand and no actions will be required on your part."

Goyle nodded. "I see," he said. "So, Hufflepuff shall handle the situation?"

"I am attending to it personally," Harry said.

Pansy Parkinson grinned darkly. "In that case, Harry, we ask only that you don't go too easy on him."

They all shook hands again and thanked each other in conclusion of what Harry realized had been a business transaction.

When Harry took the seat that Ernie and Hermione had reserved between them, Ernie said, "What was their offer?"

"They asked me what I would like."

Ernie whistled in appreciation. " _Carte blanche_ ," he said. "They must really want you."

"What was that all about?" Hermione asked.

"Punishment," Harry said.

"What?"

"They wanted my opinion on how Zabini should be punished."

"More importantly," Ernie said, "What did you ask for?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. I said I'm handling it."

"That's good," Ernie said with some relief.

"How do you mean?" Harry asked.

"You don't want to get caught owing that lot too many favors," Ernie explained. "Now they owe you a favor."

"I see," Harry said.

Hermione was alarmed. "Is this normal?"

Ernie frowned at her. He seemed to be considering how much he should tell her. He said her name slowly, "Hermione. The thing is, among old blood families, we try to handle things between us. You know, so it stays private."

"Unbelievable," Hermione breathed. "It's like the mafia."

"What's the mafia?" Ernie asked.

"It's an organized crime syndicate," Harry explained. "They're known for handling things privately."

Ernie shook his head. "No, it isn't anything bad," he said. "It's just to keep things more friendly. We all have to work together, you know?"

Hermione looked like she was about to explode. Harry put his hand on her thin shoulder. "We're still learning about this world," he said meaningfully. _Don't make a scene!_

She understood. She nodded. She sulked. Susan, on Hermione's other side, pulled her close to have a whisper with her.

"Thanks for the advice, Ernie," Harry said.

"No," Ernie said. "I think you're figuring it out on your own."

Harry frowned. "That's not true," he said. "Remember what I was about to do on Tuesday? You've really helped."

Ernie grinned. "That's right," he acknowledged. "I guess you owe me one."

Harry had the strangest feeling that he'd just fallen for a trap. Now, he realized, he owed Ernie a favor instead of owing one to Draco. Harry sighed. "I guess I do," he agreed.

Ernie laughed at him. "I'm only playing," he said. "We're both Puffs so it doesn't matter."

That, Harry thought as he laughed, was a rule he could really get behind.

That afternoon, after History and a Defense lesson that had Harry gritting his teeth, he got together Hermione and Neville and the three of them, with their small personal cauldrons and other equipment stuffed in their bags, made their way to the secret chamber at the end of Hufflepuff Hall. Hermione and Neville were suitably impressed with the large room, which, despite the cave-in, still had plenty enough room for a small potions lab to be set up in one corner.

Harry would have preferred to do their work at the cave at the end of the long tunnel, but it was simply too far away. Besides which, he did not know the code Becca used to open the second secret door. And of course there was the matter of the oath of secrecy. However, since the passageway had caved in sixty years before and had become useless to the vast majority of students who did not know how to open the second secret door, Harry thought that even the few students who might know about it would have very little reason to come there, so it would make a very good place to do a bit of extracurricular potions. The only real risk was being discovered by Becca and her friends, or possibly some other disciples of Our Lady the Saint of Mischief that he hadn't met yet, which Harry didn't think would be a particularly terrible thing.

While Hermione used the Torch Light Charm, Harry moved a few of the large boulders around with the Levitation Charm to make a little alcove or clearing within the debris that wouldn't be obvious from the entrance. It was hard work made much harder by the Why-Try Charm, which made him feel like even moving a few of the boulders around was a hopeless task. Considering that magic relies on the belief that you will succeed, this made the mental work considerably harder. However, the Why-Try didn't affect them when it came time to set up their lab within the little alcove, since Our Lady the Saint of Mischief had set it up so that only thoughts of clearing or bypassing the debris triggered a sense of futility. After the hidden alcove was cleared, Harry transfigured a large boulder into a long cuboid to serve as their worktable. Then he transfigured another rock into a tall and long cuboid with a nice wide base, which would serve as a slate for their notes. The transfigurations were simple enough conceptually since he was only changing the shapes, although Harry found them rather draining to actually perform since the objects were so large. To complete the lab, Torch Light Charms were applied to several strategic pebbles so they could work without someone needing to hold the charm with their wand.

"There are six potions I would like to brew today," Harry said without preamble once everything was set up. "Seven, counting the Babbling Beverage."

"Why so many?" Hermione asked calmly. Neville's eyes bulged – he had thought that they were brewing just two potions.

Harry nodded. "Good question," he said. "The potion we will be using on Zabini, which I'm calling the Madeleine Episode Potion, is, as you know, a modification of the simple Forgetfulness Potion in our books." Harry paused to elicit nods of understanding. "However, there is not one but three alterations from the original brew. In order to minimize all of the variables, I thought it would be best to brew three potions, one for each of the modifications."

"That makes sense," Neville said. "Testing each modification individually will make sure that what we're doing works, and will tell us where we need to change the formula if it doesn't work."

Harry grinned. "Excellent!" he said. "I knew you were the right choice, Nev. You're a logical guy."

"Er –" Neville said.

"It seems the wizarding world _can_ produce a scientific mind!" Harry added. He was inordinately pleased.

"But Harry, that's only three potions," Hermione said. "Didn't you say there were six potions other than the Babbling?"

Harry nodded. "The other three are the antidotes to each of the modifications. In potioneering, it's possible to brew an antidote to a potion without even knowing what the potion is meant to do, as long as you know its ingredients. For us that's a godsend, since we will be able to know that our antidotes will work even if the potions themselves don't work. I'll be needing the antidotes after each test."

Hermione frowned. "I'm still not comfortable with that," she said. "What if something unexpected happens? You won't be able to take the antidote if you're _dead_ , Harry. _Think_ about it."

"I'm not going to _die_ ," he said, amused. "There's no way that any of my Forgetfulness derivatives will cause any physical harm. There simply isn't any way. I might forget my entire life, though."

"You're mad!" Hermione exploded. "This whole thing is mad."

"I'm not _going_ to forget my entire life," he laughed. He cut his laughter short when he realized that it wasn't making her think him any less mad. "I'll be _fine_. This is a _first year_ potion we're working with here. It's incredibly simple."

"It's _risky_ ," Hermione said. "Didn't you say you hate risk, back on the train?"

Neville laughed. "That's right, he did," Neville said. "That's why you wanted to be in Hufflepuff rather than Gryffindor, isn't it?"

Harry waved their criticisms away. "This is debugging," he said. "This is the process by which we _eliminate_ risks."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's convenient," she said. "We're taking risks in order to eliminate risks."

"That's a pretty nice loophole," Neville agreed with a laugh.

"It's _not_ a loophole," Harry said testily. "It's the scientific method. Okay, let's get started. Experiment 1 is a potion codenamed the Day-Away Potion. We'll be brewing it and its antidote."

Harry transfigured a pebble into a piece of black chalk and proceded to write the recipes for the potions on his transfigured slate. "I wish I knew the spell Professor Snape uses to just make the writing appear," Harry grumbled once the recipes were written out. "Okay, I'll be brewing the antidote, since it's simple enough for one person to do without any trouble. For the active potion, it'll be beneficial to have an extra set of hands, so I'd like you two to work on that." Harry thought that this gesture of trust and confidence would earn him some points with his friends, and it wasn't like there was anything to lose. If they bungled the potion, he'd be able to tell. So, after verbally going over the more complicated steps of the brew, he set them to work.

It was fortunate that Hermione had learned a fire charm at some point, since Harry hadn't even thought about that.

Forty-five minutes or so later, the three students had two cauldrons with completed potions. Harry carefully measured out a dose of each into phials.

"Harry," Hermione said slowly. "Are you absolutely _sure_ about this?"

Harry downed the potion.

He blinked and looked around. Then he looked at his left arm. The numbers _6 8 9.5 10 11 12 14 14.75 15.25 16_ were written there. "This is so strange," he said. "Why would I use decimals for the hour?"

"Harry?" Hermione asked, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, but the potion isn't quite perfect. It needs just a bit more spider legs. Proof of concept, though, and now we have a starting point for the maths. This lab is pretty nice. Did I make all of this? We're before dinner, correct?"

"What –?" Two pairs of eyes blinked at him in confusion.

"What time is it?"

"It should be a little after five," Hermione said. "Why?"

"I've only lost about seven or eight hours, then," Harry said. "Let's try again."

"So your memory _has_ been affected?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, but I've only forgotten everything since the middle of Herbology. That was good work you did with that screaming orchid, by the way, Neville. I might have already said that."

"Oh," Neville said. "Er – thanks."

"This is too confusing," Hermione said. "Take the antidote."

Harry shrugged and drank the potion she offered him. He shivered as the memories flooded back into place. Grinning, he said, "That would have been more fun if I did this on a day that didn't have History and Defense. I feel like I just relived them."

"Harry, shouldn't that have been a little more disorienting for you?" Hermione said.

Harry shook his head. "I knew I'd be testing this potion at some point today or tomorrow," he said. "That's why I've been writing down the hour on my arm all day. Why did you think I was doing that?"

"I just assumed you were being strange," Neville said with a shrug.

Hermione said, "That makes sense. You knew that you would be losing your memories at some point, so you weren't particularly surprised to find yourself randomly flung from Herbology into a potions lab."

"Exactly," Harry said. "Although I thought these markings would be more useful. I should really just buy a watch at some point. Maybe one of those fancy goblin pocketwatches."

The students hadn't, unfortunately, given any thought to how to dispose of excess potions. None of them knew a charm to vanish the contents, nor was such a spell listed in _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One_. There was also the matter of cleaning the cauldrons – unlike the real Potions classroom, they had no running water here and had only brought a few liters. Since they had each brought a cauldron, and since the antidote would work just as well for the next batch, that left them with one clean cauldron they could use. So, Harry did the maths for the next recipe and hurried off to the library to get a book on cleaning charms. The librarian did give him a funny look, but she made no comment, and by the time Harry returned to their makeshift lab Hermione and Neville were nearly done with the second batch.

"Smells good," he said. "Well, it smells terrible, but it smells right."

Harry settled himself down on the floor and looked up the appropriate spells. It took him a few attempts, but he was able to vanish the botched Day-Away Potion (which was actually a charm which triggered a transfiguration – 'vanishing,' in this context at least, apparently meant transfiguring something into air, but the vanishing spell here used charm methodology to be an all-purpose spell).

"How's it looking?" Harry said, although he could see that the potion Hermione was carefully ladling into a phial looked perfect.

"Perfect," she said. "But Harry, let me test it this time."

Harry was rather surprised by her volunteering. At first he wanted to let her go ahead and do it, but then he realized something. "That's not a great idea," he said. "I've been thinking about this for the last couple of days, so I wasn't particularly surprised to find my memories missing. But for you, it'll be much stranger. It might upset you."

Hermione snorted. "I think I'll be fine," she said. "Besides, we can't let you have all the fun."

Harry looked at Neville for his opinion. "Harry's right that it'll be weirder for you, Hermione," he said. "But I think you should do it if you want to. This is a group project, isn't it?"

"Thank you, Neville," Hermione said, giving Harry a smug look.

Harry really didn't want her to do it, but he had to just shrug and let her do what she wanted to do. "It's your life," he said. "Relive it the way you want to relive it."

Neville snorted. Hermione beamed at him and downed the phial.

Immediately, Hermione was panicking. "Where am I?" she said, looking around in alarmed confusion. The phial slipped out of her hand and shattered on the stone floor.

"It's all right, Hermione," Harry said. "We're just testing out a potion."

"We were just at the Qudditch Pitch. How did we get here?" she said.

"Hermione, listen to me," Harry said, taking hold of her shoulders.

"This was a bad idea," Neville said. Harry gave him a sharp look. He had _told_ them it was a bad idea.

"Hermione," Harry said. "It's fine. You're with your friends. We're just doing some potions work. You've just drunk a potion that wipes your memory."

"Wipes my –?" Hermione said. If anything, her panic was getting worse. "I've drunk a potion that _wipes my memory_?"

"It's fine, don't worry. We have the antidote here. Please be calm."

"You want me to be _calm_?" she repeated, scandalized. "I can't believe you made me do this – I was just _telling_ you that testing potions is dangerous! Harry, how could you do this to me?"

"Hermione, it was your idea," Neville said. "Harry told you not to do it, and you did it anyway."

These words seemed to hit her like a slap in the face. "Have I lost my _mind_?" she said faintly. "What – …"

"It's all right, Hermione," Neville said. "This is the antidote. Drink it."

Hermione downed the antidote. She shut her eyes and Harry, who still had his hands on her shoulders, could feel her tremble as the memories flooded back. When her eyes opened, the panic was replaced with chagrin. "Sorry about that," she said meekly.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said.

"Are you all right?" Neville asked. "Do you remember?"

Hermione nodded. "I remember. Sorry for flipping out like that. I should have let Harry do it."

"It's okay," Harry said. "We're still learning. You're definitely good?"

"Yes, I'm good," she said. "I think I need to sit down."

Harry helped her to a rock that seemed like a good seat. Neville brought her a bottle of water and she gulped it down thirstily. "That was really weird," she said after a while.

"I know," Harry said. "You said you were in the Quidditch Pitch, right?"

"Yeah," Hermione said. Then she laughed. "It's funny, because we were just talking about potions. I was trying to convince you not to test potions on yourself. Ironic, right?"

Harry grinned and nodded. "Excellent," he said. "That was just about twenty-four hours ago, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Hermione said. "Or more like … closer to twenty-five hours."

Harry nodded again, rubbing his chin. "That's right," he said. "The potion was meant for me, and I'm a little heavier than you. So that makes sense that it would take you back an extra hour. Well, I think we can say that the experiment was a success! This is wonderful!"

"I don't feel wonderful," Hermione reminded him pointedly. Harry, embarrassed for his behavior, tried to contain his excitement.

"Sorry," he said. "I got a little carried away there."

"It's okay," Hermione said with a sigh. "You're right. It works. I should be happy, too. I just still feel strange."

"You just rest easy, Hermione," Harry said. "Neville and I will clean up, and then we'll go to dinner. Okay?"

She nodded, giving him a weak smile.

Harry and Neville portioned out and labeled the rest of the Day-Away Potion and the antidote. Harry then modified their workbench a bit, putting a crude shelf under the worktable, and they put the concoctions away. Remembering the liquor shelf in Our Lady the Saint of Mischief's secret cave, Harry transfigured the table again to hide the shelf. He was pretty sure that there was a better way to do it than transfiguring the cabinet again whenever he wanted to open or close it but he thought that this was pretty good for now. Once everything was away, Harry levitated a massive boulder and positioned it to close off the little aisle that led to the postions lab.

"I'm surprised your still standing up, Harry," Neville said. "You've been using a lot of magic."

"Yeah," Harry said. "I wanted to come back here after dinner and knock out the remaining brews. I hope I have enough energy."

"There's no way," Neville said. "You really shouldn't over-do it when it comes to magic."

Harry frowned. "Why not? I'll be better tomorrow, won't I?"

"You'll be fine tomorrow," Neville agreed. "But if you tried doing much more, you wouldn't. How do I explain... Think of it as a muscle."

"Magic muscle. Got it."

"It's really good for you to work out and build your muscles, right? But you shouldn't push yourself to your limits every day. It can cause a lot of damage. You've got to pace yourself, and make sure you get a lot of rest and good food."

"Okay, that makes sense," Harry said. He was glad someone was telling him about the risks – there was no telling what would have happened if he hadn't known.

"It's really important," Neville said. "Because if you damage that magic muscle, you could end up a squib. It's really serious."

Harry nodded seriously. "Don't worry, Nev. I'll be careful. Thanks for telling me. They should really tell everyone this kind of thing..."

"Honestly, Harry!" Hermione said. "They _do_ tell you these things. Didn't you read the _Survival Guide_?"

"The what?"

" _ _The Ultimate Survival Guide to the Wizarding World for Muggleborns by Muggleborns__ _!_ " she exclaimed. "It has all of that kind of information. I thought everyone that went to Flourish and Blott's came out with a copy of it!"

"Oooh," Harry said slowly. The long-winded title did ring a bell. "That's that book Oswald was trying to sell me. No, I didn't buy it. It's good, is it?"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're going to read my copy," she said. It was a simple declaration of fact.

"Okay," Harry said cautiously. "I will."

"You're reading it tonight."

"Okay. I will."

"It's not a very useful potion, though, is it?" Neville said as they were leaving. "I mean, why would anyone want to forget their whole day?"

"It could be very useful," Hermione said. "When I took the potion, I felt … well, it was almost like going back in time, really! Everything that I had been thinking about twenty-five hours ago was suddenly fresh on my mind again. And then after I took the antidote, I could still remember those thoughts more clearly than I had before. So, it could be very useful for reviewing. For example, if I had a great idea but never wrote it down, and I could no longer remember some of the details, I could take the Day-Away Potion – or we could make a Week-Away or a Year-Away if we wanted – and then I'd remember everything about that great idea."

"That hadn't even occurred to me," Harry said. "You're right … it's a dead useful potion, really."

"I could probably use it from time to time myself," Neville said. "I can be a bit forgetful sometimes."

"A bit ironic, isn't it, that a Forgetfulness Potion could be used to help you remember things?" Harry said. It was an idea that he thought was extremely funny. "We'll have to talk about this some more after dinner," he said as they came to the Entrance Hall. That was the thing about secret projects, after all – you couldn't just go around talking about them.

As soon as the food came into sight, Harry was suddenly aware of just how hungry he was. He was glad that Hogwarts had such hearty food – today they were having meat pies, mashed potatoes and vegetables.

"We know we're late," Harry told Hannah as they sat down. Susan rolled her eyes with a grin while Hannah pouted.

"More importantly," Ernie said, "We've made some progress on our project."

"Excellent," Harry said. "Let's talk about that later."

"Of course," Ernie said.

After dinner, though, they decided to put talk of tormenting Zabini to one side for the present, since they all still had to write a one-foot essay for Charms class which was due the following morning. Harry, who had had so little interest in the assignment that he might have forgotten about it if left to his own devices, found the assignment rather more interesting than he had expected. The assignment was to compare wands with other devices that had historically been used instead.

Most cultures, he learned, had favored staffs over wands in ancient history. This was because staffs performed better at the type of nature-based magic that the ancient animists, shamans and druids favored, this due to the fact that staffs acted directly on the spirits of nature. The staff-wielder would act as a translator between the will of the spirits and the environment around them. Wands were capable of performing nature-based magic as well, but only of the kind that wands are suited for, which tended to have very specific functions and very rarely involved any deep interaction with the spirits of nature. So, for example, a staff-wielding warlock of old may have used their powers to conjure up a great forest fire, or to start a fire in a fireplace, and in either case they would be doing essentially the same thing: interpreting the will of the spirits of fire. A wand-wielder, on the other hand, would use very different spells for these two actions, and would not concern herself with spirits and such.

Because wand-based magic did not rely on the will of nature spirits to work, wand-wielders were capable of doing things that the staff-wielding shamans of old could not do. Specifically: charms. While you can start a fire with a staff or a wand, only a wand can be used to make a teakettle ice skate, because there was no ice skating teakettle spirit. Over time, despite the drawbacks to using wands, this flexibility gradually led to them supplanting staffs in much of Africa, Asia and Europe, although there were still many practicioners of the old ways all over the world.

"What an excellent assignment," Harry said as he made his final full stop. "I had no idea about all of this."

"Speaking of which," Hermione said, "You should get started on the _Survival Guide_."

Harry rolled his eyes, but diligently did as he was told.

 _The Ultimate Survival Guide to the Wizarding World for Muggleborns by Muggleborns_ turned out to be a most fascinating read, cramming an insane amount of information into just sixty-four pages. The condescending tone of the book that had put Harry off when he first looked at it in the store turned out to just be part of the book's sense of humor. He felt perfectly silly for taking offense to what was now clearly just an attempt at being funny. He even found himself laughing at the book at times.

"Wonderful read," he said as he finished it.

"Are you done already?" Justin said, amazed.

"Well, yeah. It's very short. Brilliant, though."

"Of course you're a speed-reader," Justin said, rolling his eyes. "Why would you be a slow reader?"

Harry was a bit taken aback by Justin's apparently serious expression of annoyance. "Er –" he said. "Well, I do read a lot."

"Just ignore the prat, Harry," Hannah said. "That's what I do."

"Hang on, Justin isn't a prat," Harry said. "Justin, is there something you want to say?"

Justin sighed and shook his head. "No, Hannah's right," he said. "I was being a prat."

"Er – okay then," Harry said awkwardly. "So we're good?"

"Yeah, we're good."

Harry could see that things were not entirely good, but of course there was very little to be done about it. He wasn't about to pressure Justin to say what was on his mind when Justin was clearly trying to avoid the confrontation. Harry had to respect that decision and let sleeping dragons lie, even though it bothered him.

Harry suddenly noticed that Frankie Wooten was sitting almost directly across the Hearth from him and was trying to catch Harry's eye. When they made eye contact, Frankie jerked his head in the direction of the door that led to the game room, then got up and went through the door. Harry, after packing up his things and telling the other Puffs that he was going to see if anyone was playing billiards, followed.

Predictably enough, Ernie, Justin, Wayne, Neville, Hannah and Susan all decided that that was a fine idea and followed Harry. Hermione didn't even look up from her book. Cerie was drawing something and couldn't have been dragged away with a heavy chain and a raging bull. Megan was quietly crocheting what appeared to be a sock, and was very much engaged as well.

Spotting Frankie sitting at one of the chess tables in the corner, Harry shot the older boy an apologetic shrug. Frankie just rolled his eyes, grinning, and walked over.

"Harry, my man!" Frankie said amiably, extending his hand for a friendly shake. Harry did not react to the slip of parchment that Frankie handed off to him. "Fancy a game?"

Frankie introduced himself to all of the others and, since there was eight of them, they decided to see if playing a four versus four game would work. Harry, who was really quite exhausted and had had no interest in playing, of course had no choice but to play a game or two since it had seemed to be his idea.

The note, as Harry would later discover, read, _Tomorrow night – 1:30 AM – bring snacks_. He wondered where to get some snacks. Then he was overcome with excitement at the prospect of another nocturnal flight.

Somehow, before Harry fell asleep, he managed to read the last twenty-odd pages of his enchanting book.

It was a good thing, too, because Hermione, who had finished her book on Wednesday, demanded that they swap as soon as she saw him sitting by the Hearth Friday morning. "Yes, I finished it," he said. "It's really interesting."

"My book – well, your book now – was really terribly fascinating as well," Hermione said as they made the swap. "I really can't wait to get started. D'you think, if the supplies arrive soon …?"

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed. "Damn. I was supposed to send off the order yesterday. It totally slipped my mind!"

"It's perfectly all right," Hermione said. "A few hours will hardly make any difference. I have some mail to send off, too."

So they made their way up to the owlry, which was really quite a long way away from Hufflepuff, at the top of a spire on the northwest wing. To the Hufflepuffs, who were on the ground floor in the southeast of the castle, this meant they had to make almost the longest possible line across the castle to get there – nor was it a straight line, for of course at Hogwarts there rarely were any straight paths anywhere at all. Although technically considered part of the seventh floor, the owlry, like astronomy tower, loomed high above the rest of the castle, and was approached by way of a dismally long spiral staircase. "Wow," Harry said when they finally reached the top. "That was a lot harder than last time."

"That's because of how much magic you used yesterday," Hermione said.

"I know that," he said. "I'm just surprised by how much you really notice it. I hope I'm not a mess tonight..."

"What's tonight?" Hermione said.

"Oh – er – well, it's Friday night," he said.

"Yes. So?"

"The billiards tournament!" he exclaimed. Internally he was thanking his lucky stars that he had been able to come up with that. "How could you forget about the billiards tournament?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry tied his letter to the foot of the nearest owl and sent it off. Then he watched with both amusement and bemusement as Hermione went all around the owlry, inspecting every specimen. Apparently her letter to her parents was so important that it could only be entrusted to the most healthy of owls. Finally she selected a particularly mostrous barn owl and sent off her mail. The owl proved that her faith in it was not misplaced as it took off like a feathery jetplane.

"That's good thinking," Harry said. "I bet your owl makes it to London way before mine does."

Hermione just favored him with a smug look.

There was still plenty of time before breakfast, so the pair decided to do a bit of poking around on the upper levels. "We should figure out where the astronomy tower is," Harry said. "We have our first lesson tonight."

"That sounds lovely," Hermione said. "Do you mind if I read while we walk?"

Harry rolled his eyes and submitted to guiding her around so that she wouldn't crash into any walls while she walked and read. She wasn't going to learn where the astronomy tower was this way, but Harry would and that was good enough, he supposed. Harry decided to amuse himself by taking a particularly roundabout and aimless route, just to see if Hermione was paying any attention at all, which, aside from staircases, she wasn't. Harry tried to avoid staircases. He would sometimes tell her to wait somewhere while he poked his head in a classroom. If he took more than thirty seconds or so, she would sit down on the ground and keep reading. He found the whole thing hilarious.

Eventually, Hermione finished the introduction and the first chapter and looked up. "Are we in the dungeons?" she said.

"Yep," Harry said. "It's like a maze down here. I have no idea how to get out of here. Did you memorzie the route we took?"

"Harry!" she exclaimed. "You must know that I have absolutely no idea how we got here!"

"Don't worry, I'm only playing," Harry said. "I know how to get back. I'm pretty sure I do."

"You better not get us lost down here," Hermione said. Then, to Harry's eternal amazement, she went back to reading her book.

Eventually, without discovering anything of great interest other than a great number of empty rooms in secluded places that could be used for a project, they even made their way to the astronomy tower.

Even though Harry had all of his favorite classes that day, Harry really couldn't wait to be done with school. There was so much he wanted to get done after class.

In Charms, Professor Flitwick went back to lecture mode, and while Harry's background reading had given him a new appreciation for the fascinating things that their professor was telling them, the class still seemed to drag on and on.

Tranfiguration, Harry was beginning to realize, was a subject he loved but a class that he actually kind of hated. Every day they would be given two hours to do a task that took him a few minutes to do. He would spend the remainder the period helping his friends or just looking around, astonished at how long it took some of his peers to master the spell – if they even did. And he was even weary of reading ahead, since that would just deprive him of the few minutes of enjoyable work per class.

And then there was Potions, which Harry was starting to realize might be his favorite actual class. Despite the dour demeanor of their instructor, Harry saw the man as an invaluable potential resource just waiting to be tapped into. Even so, on that particular day Harry could see no way to improve the potion they were assigned to do that wouldn't alter its effect, so he just went through the motions as efficiently as a human being could. One thing that Harry really _loved_ about Potions class was that, unlike Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout, Professor Snape had no interest in keeping students around after they had completed the assignment. Harry never felt like it was a burden to work on his own, since he saw no need for a partner and it would have been irritating for him to have to explain what he's doing every step of the way. Furthermore, his method was very different from the method the other students were doing. In all of the partnered pairs, one of the partners would be on cauldron duty, stirring or just watching the cauldron, while the other would be on prep duty, dicing or measuring out the ingredients. To Harry, this seemed like a perfect waste of four hands and two brains: it took very little time to prep all of the ingredients and then start brewing.

Harry finished his brew around the same time that Hermione and Lisa did, which he was happy about because he had wanted a chance to introduce himself to the girl. Unfortunately, this was not to be: Lisa let Hermione hand in the potion, while she just gathered up her things and scurried away, leaving no possibility of Harry both speaking to Lisa and walking with Hermione.

They arrived at their secret lab shortly after that. Harry let Hermione levitate the massive boulder out of the little aisle. "Lord, Harry!" she exclaimed as she lifted it with great effort. "You moved this thing like it was nothing!"

Harry just shrugged and started putting the Torch Light Charms on various pebbles above the lab. "It's convenient, coming here after Potions," he said. "I'm thinking about buying some more cauldrons so we don't have to keep carrying them everywhere."

Hermione frowned. Harry waited for her to say what was on her mind, but she didn't, so he just got his household charms book out of his bag and started looking for a good charm to clean the gray slate of stone they were using as a chalkboard. While he was looking for it, Hermione started setting up their stations.

Neville joined the pair just as Harry was finishing off writing the new recipe on the board. "Hey, mate," Harry said.

"Hey guys. So, what's on the agenda for Potions Class Mark Two?"

Harry laughed, but he said, "Sorry Nev. I know Potions isn't your thing."

"Actually," Neville said, "I had a lot of fun yesterday. Hermione's a way better partner than Justin. And you're a better teacher than Snape."

Neville's words warmed Harry's heart. "Thanks," he said meaningfully.

"Don't let it go to your head, Harry," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

"Too late, it already did. Okay! So today we're going to take a great leap forward, guys. We're going to make a little something I call the Targeted Can't-Recall Potion. Can't-Recall because that's what it does – blocks out your memories, just like our Day-Away Potion. And Targeted because my recipe allows you to configure exactly _when_ you're blocking out, as well as how long the _when_ should be. Make sense?"

"Sort of," Neville said.

"I think I get it," Hermione said. "You can use this potion to, say, block out the month of February of 1985, just as a random example."

"I'd be interested to know what you did in February, 1985," Harry said with a laugh. "Yes, that's right. Or you could block out all of 1985, or you could block out everything between February and August. Just as random examples. In this case, we're going to brew a potion that blocks out everything between 1984 and the present day."

"Zabini's childhood, in other words," Hermione reasoned.

"Yes. Or, in this case, my childhood, since _I_ will be the one testing it."

"Harry, this potion is a lot more dangerous than the Day-Away, isn't it?" she said nervously. "I mean, what if it can't be reversed?"

"Actually, it's rather _less_ dangerous, I think. Its effects should wear off naturally over time. Within just a few minutes, your childhood will come back to you. So even if we botch the antidote, which we won't, there will be no lasting effects. I'm pretty sure about that."

"Pretty sure?" Neville repeated skeptically.

Harry shrugged. "We will find out for sure," he said. "We'll be needing to test it, since our final potion, the one we're going to give to Zabini, must wear off naturally."

"So you plan to just have the mind of a three year old for a few minutes?" Hermione summarized. "Don't you know how insane that is?"

"What's wrong with that?" Harry said, honestly perplexed. "It's not like I'll be unsupervised. Just don't let me run with scissors or anything and I'll be fine."

"You know he'll do it anyway," Neville told Hermione. "I mean, if we don't let him go through with this, he'll still do it anyway, just when we aren't here."

"Definitely!" Harry agreed. "However, I would much rather you be here, because, as you said, it could be dangerous."

Hermione was rubbing her temples. "You're going to kill me, Harry Potter," she said.

An hour later, the phial of potion and antidote were ready to drink. "I'm actually pretty nervous," Harry said. "This is going to be really weird."

"I _really_ think you should carefully consider this," Hermione cautioned. "Maybe let's sleep on it and come back to this in the morning?"

"No, no, I've waited long enough," Harry said. "If I were going to change my mind, I would have by now. No, this has to be done. It's the only way to prank Zabini."

"Is that _really so important to you_?" Hermione exclaimed. "This is your life we're talking about, Harry!"

"Yes, it is really important to me," Harry said. "Anyway, don't worry. I was a well-behaved little kid. This will be easy. Oh, Nev, take these –" it was some of the candies left over from the Hogwarts Express. "Just give that to me and I'll probably love you guys. I barely ever had sweets as a kid."

Neville accepted the sweets, but he was looking very unsure about this whole thing.

"Oh, you should probably hold onto my wand, too, Neville. Wouldn't want to start a fire or something. Oh, and make sure that I don't drink the antidote unless at least ten minutes have gone by. I think it'll wear off on its own in two or three minutes on the outside, but wait ten before you pull the plug on the experiment."

When he was sure that there wasn't anything else to tell his future babysitters about taking care of himself, and before he could lose his nerve, Harry drank.

"Yuck!" he said. "That was so gross!" Then he looked around and saw the two older kids, and there was a bunch of rocks and weird things, and was he in a cave? "What's going on?" he said, scared. "Where am I?"

"Don't worry, Harry," the girl said. "We're your friends."

Harry frowned at her. "I don't know you," he said. "Where's my aunt?"

"She's back in London, Harry. We're in Scotland."

" _Scotland_!" he exclaimed. "I was just at school. What are you talking about!"

"Here," the boy said nervously. "Have a chocolate frog."

"I don't want chocolate!" Harry yelled. "I want my aunt! Are you kidnappers?" He started crying.

"We're not kidnappers," the girl said. "We're your best friends. I'm Hermione, and that's Neville."

"Why am I so _big_?" Harry suddenly exclaimed, abruptly not crying anymore. "I'm as big as you are!" He looked at his arms and legs in awe. "Why am I in a _dress_?"

"We should give him the antidote," the boy said.

"No, let's wait," the girl said. "He'll be unbearable if we ruin his experiment."

"What are you _talkng_ about?" Harry asked.

The girl smiled at him. She said, "Don't worry about that Harry. Hey, why don't you tell me what you did today?"

Harry glared at her. "I'm not telling you. Where's my aunt?"

"Don't worry. She'll be here soon. What did you do at school today?"

"She'll be here soon?" Harry repeated. "Where is she?"

"She's just in the bathroom," the girl said. "Er – she really had to go. But it's a girls bathroom so she told us to watch you for a minute."

"You said we're in _Scotland_!" Harry yelled. "You're a liar! Isn't this a cave? Caves don't have bathrooms!"

The girl blinked at him. "You really are a clever boy," she said.

"You just admitted to LYING!" Harry said. And then he ran away. However he didn't get more than twenty feet when he came face to face with three stone walls. There was no door out.

He turned around. The boy was jogging over to him. Harry took a step back, saying, "Just stay away from me!"

"Harry, please! It's your friend Neville! It's just me and Hermione!" the boy said.

"Hermione ..." Harry repeated slowly.

Then, all at once, the memories rushed over him. He fell to the ground in surprise as the last seven years came back to him all at once. He sat there blinking in disorientation for a moment. Then he spotted Neville, and said, "How long?"

"Harry? Is that you?" Neville said.

"It's me, Nev," Harry said with a smile. "I'm sorry about all of that. I guess we should have set this up better so I wouldn't freak out like that."

"It's all right," Neville said. "Welcome back."

"Harry, you gave us _such_ a fright!" Hermione said as she approached. There were tears falling down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he said, hugging her. "That wasn't smart, was it?"

"No, it wasn't!" she yelled as she embraced him back. "You thought we were kidnappers! Of course you thought that – anyone would have thought that. You were terrified!"

"I'm sorry," he said again.

Hermione calmed down rather quickly as he held her. After half a minute, he pulled away and looked at her. She wasn't crying anymore. "Are you all right?" he said.

"What about you, Harry?" Hermione said. "You were so scared."

He smiled. "I'm all right now."

There was a long silence. Then Neville said, "It was about ninety seconds. I mean that's how long the effect lasted."

"Perfect," Harry said. "That's just about what we want. I think we can consider this experiment a success. _Well_ ," he added "The potion is a success."

"I don't understand how you can be so _calm_ about this!" Hermione exclaimed.

"It's all right, Hermione. I was scared when I was under the potion, but now that I know there was no reason to be scared, I feel fine. Is that strange?"

Hermione smiled bitterly. "Everything about you is strange," she said.

"Not _everything_ ," he said, insulted. Unfortunately, he failed to come up with any counter-examples. "Let's just get the last potion done."

After Harry convinced his friends that it was fine to keep working, and after they had bottled up the remaining Targeted Can't-Recall Potion, Harry began to explain. "So, our last two potions were a success," he said. "However, although we've seen that they can be useful, for us they were just necessary steps to get to this final potion. This is the Madeleine Episode Potion –"

"Named for Proust's madeleine episode," Hermione realized.

"Of course. Similar to the experience that he had in that cafe, we're trying to create a potion that brings memories of the past up so vividly that it feels like you've gone back and are living them again. This potion is the inverse of the Targeted Can't-Recall Potion we just made. While that one crosses out the last seven years, this one will bold and underline it. It is my hope that, when combined with the Babbling Beverage, this will cause the person affected to say a bunch of stuff about their childhood, since that will be on the top of their mind."

"If it works, it'll be pretty hilarious," Neville said.

"Harry, even if it works, it'll be out of our control what Zabini actually says," Hermione pointed out. "He might not say anything embarrassing at all."

Harry shrugged. "That's true," he said. "We won't have any control over what the Babbling Beverage causes him to say other than that it will be about his life. But that's part of the fun, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Hermione said doubtfully.

"Er – possibly. I've never pranked anyone before. We'll see."

When the potion and antidote were done brewing, Harry was grinning as he held the phial. "This is really exciting," he said.

"What's so exciting about reliving your past?" Neville asked, bemused.

"There's probably so much I've forgotten," Harry explained. "I'll remember everything with this. I wonder – maybe next time."

"What is it?"

"Well," Harry said. "I was just thinking that maybe it would be nice to use one that targeted when I was a newborn, up until my parents died. I can't really remember anything about them..."

Neville stared, wide-eyed. "Why didn't I think about that?" he breathed. "We're _making_ that potion," he said.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, you're in the same boat, aren't you? I wonder if Susan would like to try, too."

Hermione looked around at the boys with obvious, painful awkwardness. "Let's just focus on this for right now," she said.

Harry nodded firmly. "So, this is the first potion we've made that actually improves the memory instead of hurting it," he pointed out. "While I'm fairly confident that it'll work, I could be wrong."

"Harry, why do you have to say things like that?" Neville asked. "We already know that. And we know you're going to do it anyway!"

"What are the risks?" Hermione asked.

"Let's see," Harry said. "Well, it's possible – not likely – that it will make the memories come forth so vividly that I think I really am in the past. Should that happen … I suppose I might get trapped within them."

Hermione blinked. "And you're still going to take it?" she said faintly.

"I don't think that'll happen," Harry said. "Another possibility is that I'll remember something that I was better off not remembering. Now, I don't believe I have any repressed memories, but if I did then how would I know? So I might remember something that I've repressed, and that could have all kinds of psychological impacts."

Neville frowned. "There are things I've forgotten," he said. "Things that I know happened, I mean."

"Ah," Harry said. "Well. In that case, this potion may restore those memories."

"Harry, let me test it," Neville said.

" _No_ ," he said firmly. "No, we're not going to add in variables we can't account for. Not on the first experiment. Anyway, you have to ask yourself if you _really_ want to know those things."

"I really do," Neville said. "I feel like I need to know."

Harry cleared his throat. "Okay," he said. "You can try it too, if it works. But not first. We're not going to add additional variables in the first experiment."

Neville nodded. The way he was firmly holding Harry's eye made Harry realize that the other boy had taken that to be a promise.

Hermione was frowning. "What other risks?" she asked.

"Hm," Harry said, thinking about it. "Well, this isn't really a risk of the potion _per se_. But … since you're bringing up all of your memories to the fore, it may be possible for another person to somehow hypnotise you while you're under its effects … and then..."

"Why would someone do that?"

"Well, it might be possible to use this potion to alter memories. You could make somone think they are guilty of a crime they never committed, or something like that."

"But that's _horrible_!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Well, it's horrible, but it's also hypothetical," Harry reasoned. "I think it might be possible with hypnosis, but I don't really know that for sure. Is there a kind of magical hypnosis?"

The other two Puffs just exchanged looks. "That's a good question," Hermione said. "It sort of seems like there would be, doesn't it? But I haven't read anything about that."

"Hypnosis is like mind magic, isn't it?" Neville said.

"Mind magic is a thing, then?" Harry asked.

"Of course. I know all about it, since my parents … well, it's possible to enter another wizard's mind. You can see if they are lying, or you can even view their recollection. It's called legilimency. I assumed you would know about it already, since what we're doing could be considered a kind of mind magic."

"I see," Harry said even as his brain attempted to process the implications of such a powerful branch of magic. "There are people who can read minds... Well. That's a lot to take in."

"Yes," Hermione said, here eyes wide. "The potential for abuse..."

"That's why it's so tightly regulated," Neville said. "It's forbidden to print books about legilimency. So only a few people know how to do it. Mind Healers, some Aurors, some Obliviators, some Unspeakables … of course some of the Death Eaters knew how to do it as well – or rather still do, even though they aren't Death Eaters now."

"That's not very tightly regulated at all!" Harry exclaimed, alarmed. "That's a lot of people!"

Hermione was appalled for a different reason. "Why would it be forbidden to print books about it? It seems like people should know about this! They really should have mentioned the mind-readers in the _Survival Guide_!"

"That's right!" Harry said. "How could that book leave out something so important and still call itself the _Survival Guide_?"

Neville frowned at them. "You mean that book they give to muggleborns?" he said. "Well, it's not really the kind of thing you want to tell muggleborns, usually. I mean, they might get put off. Anyway, it's forbidden."

Harry snorted. "It's advertising," he realized. "They can't just tell people that their brains are open books."

Neville raised his hands to pacifyingly. "It's really quite rare," he assured them. "And it's very illegal to perform legilimency on someone unless it's part of their medical treatment or a legal investigation."

Harry frowned. There was an obvious problem with that statement and the previous statement that some former Death Eaters know the magic. "Neville, I don't see why you're acting defensive. I think it's natural for us to be worried. It's pretty shocking information."

"I'm not defending anyone," Neville said. "I just don't want you to get the wrong idea about it. Legilimency is a tool for medicine and law enforcement. It's not dark magic. There is the potential for abuse, but most of the people that know how to do it are good people."

"All right," Harry said. He could see that this discussion had come to an impasse. "I can see your point. But, like I was saying before … I think, if I understand what legilimency is, you could combine that with this potion to insert false memories. So, that's a risk."

The group all looked at the potion phial that was still in Harry's hand. The green liquid seemed more dangerous and powerful, now. "So," Harry said, "Don't let anyone do legilimency on me while I'm under it." And he drank.

He remembered sitting in the back yard, tinkering with the weed whacker. Its engine had burned out. His uncle went to the store to get a new one and Harry was left waiting in the back yard. He fixed the machine. His uncle returned. Harry said, "It only needed lubricant." His uncle was proud of him.

Harry was sitting in class, but it was a very hot day and he was drowsy. He drifted into a day-dream. The numbers on the whiteboard swam around and blended with colors and smells. The class was all laughing, suddenly, and Harry jerked out of his fantasy, and the numbers were all scrambled and colorful on the whiteboard, and it smelled like flowers. The teacher's eyes were wide.

It was Easter. He wanted to just hide in his room. Dudley's friends were all there, but none of them liked Harry very much. They thought he was weird, and he thought they were stupid. He didn't want to talk to them. There was a knock at his door. Dudley was there. Harry told Dudley that he didn't want to play. Dudley gave Harry a chocolate egg. Harry went downstairs to play with the other kids. He didn't care if they thought he was weird.

"Harry, are you okay?" Harry could see Hermione in front of him even as the pictures continued to play in his mind. He said that he was okay.

There was a huge spider – Harry was in the shower, and there was a huge spider in the shower. He felt so vulnerable. It looked so scary, and he was naked. He wanted it to go away, but he didn't want to touch it. He tried splashing water at it to send it into the drain, but it refused to budge. Finally he said, "Go away, spider!" and it turned into black water, and it blended with the water in the shower and was washed away. He wondered if he was crazy.

It was a strange, almost euphoric sensation – he felt the emotions of his whole life all at once, and he felt new emotions now as those memories affected his present self. After a while, there were no more memories that stood out as particularly interesting, and he became aware of all of the boring times in between – sitting alone in his room, going to school, eating meals, sleeping – and then the memories were not flashing before him anymore, but blending together into the experience of his life.

As suddenly as it had started, it was over. Harry blinked. He felt strange, now. The echoes of the memories reverberated around his mind. "How long?" he said.

"About fifteen seconds," Hermione said.

"Wow," Harry said. "My whole life, almost..."

"The potion, it works?" Neville said, squatting down next to Harry. At some point in that trance he had sat down on the floor.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I had forgotten a lot of things … I found a frog behind school, once, and I wondered why frogs didn't have fur, and I thought it would look pretty funny with fur, and then it was just covered in it. I had forgotten all about that. It hopped away so fast, I thought it was just my imagination or a daydream. But it was real."

Hermione nodded. "I remember, I did a few things like that when I was little, too. But I always just thought I was being silly."

Neville frowned at them. "That must be really horrible," he said. "Doing accidental magic, but you think you're crazy. Normally your whole family would celebrate it."

"It was pretty terrible, actually," Harry said. "I guess maybe I did have some repressed memories. I hardly remembered any of my accidental magic, but it happened all the time. The rest of my life was so boring … it's amazing that I forgot so many of the interesting bits."

"They say muggles'll forget anything they don't want to believe," Neville said. "I guess when you're raised muggle..."

"That isn't true," Hermione said. "Muggles aren't totally oblivious. They're really observant, actually! They invented science, you know."

Neville blinked slowly at her. "Science … that's the thing they use to explain away magic, right?" he said. His incomprehension was an almost physical thing.

"Well –" Hermione said. "Well, I guess you could say –"

Harry laughed.

* * *

Some notes

Yep. Intelligent!Goyle. I figure one of the two of them has to be able to string a coherent thought together, otherwise they'd just sit there giggling like Beavis and Butthead. (Was that a plot bunny?) I thought about just excluding them both from the story like many authors who write Malfoy do, but Malfoy must hang around them for a reason, and we know that they _aren't_ getting paid to look pretty.


	8. Chapter 8

The Tinkerer

Chapter 8

Neville went to take the potion next, holding it with such obvious nervousness and hesitation that it was soon contagious. Harry saw the reflection of the bright green liquid in Neville's uncertain eyes, and it make Harry feel uncertain, too. Finally, unable to stand the mounting anxiety, Harry said, "Well, go on! Get it over with!"

He drank the green fluid with a grimace. The taste, Harry knew, was similar to what he imagined rotten cranberries would taste like, and it was very thick and did not go down easily but left an almost waxy film in the mouth and throat.

Neville's eyes immediately went out of focus, his eyelids fluttering rapidly. His face became completely relaxed, like someone in a deep and dreamless slumber. He took a weak step backwards, and Harry rushed to catch him if he should fall. But he caught himself and stayed standing even as the majority of his life flashed before him.

"It feels amazing," Neville said faintly. That was true, as Harry well knew. There was a euphoria to the effect – he wondered if it caused the pineal gland to release DMT, the euphoric chemical of death. "But so strange – I remember –"

"Don't speak," Harry said. "Just focus."

But there was little time for Neville to speak much, in any case. With a blink, his eyes came back with greater focus than Harry had ever seen that somehow looked absent at the same time. Harry asked his friend if he was all right. Neville said, "Some of that … I could have kept forgetting."

"I know," Harry said. "The potion … it's powerful."

Neville nodded. "I need to sit down," he said. And he sat down right there on the floor, and Harry and Hermione watched in muted concern as his eyes danced about, staring at their worktable blindly.

"I had no friends, you know," Neville said after a very long time, looking up at them. The great wells of water that had been pooling in his eyes suddenly broke and a great flood of tears rolled down his cheeks. But he was not sobbing – he seemed strangely collected, even as the tears fell. Neville smiled at them – a distant, sad smile. "When I was a kid … my Gran has always been so protective."

"Oh, Neville!" Hermione exclaimed, kneeling and embracing him.

Harry tried to hide the great awkwardness he felt and clasped his friend's shoulders in a manly way. He said, "You have friends, now."

"I know," Neville said.

Hermione had absolutely no interest in taking the potion, so they cleaned up, replaced the boulder that served as the door to their lab, and left.

Harry was very eager to get back on Tosha Timely's Galeburst, and he had difficulty containing his excitement. Finally he decided to give into it and simply redirect his peers' attentions: he was excited about the billiards tournament, they all thought – he could not care less about it.

Still, there was one matter left to attend to. The slip of parchment Frankie Wooten had slipped him the previous evening had contained a directive: _bring snacks_.

Getting snacks turned out to be far easier than Harry had supposed – but also far more chilling. When he asked Neil Northbrate, the fifth year prefect, about it, the older boy was more than happy to "complete the tour of Hufflepuff," in his words. He rounded up all of the first years and said, "Harry raised an excellent point to me. You lot don't know where the kitchens are yet, do you?"

The assembly of firsties, which Neil had lined up like soldiers near the exit of the Common Room, all shook their heads.

Neil, who had taken to the assignment of playing tour guide with a great deal of enthusiasm, said, "Well, that just won't do at all, will it? It's one of the great benefits to our most tremendously excellent House, after all!" and proceeded to laugh in a series of loud barks that seemed to go on for a very long time before abruptly stopping. "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! No," he said with an air of finality. "It won't do at all! This evening we'll be having our first billiards tourny, and that means snacks. So, you being the new class, naturally it's your responsibility to furnish said snacks!"

"That makes sense," Hannah said weakly, her voice lacking its customary boisterousness, apparently affected by Neil's odd behavior.

"Too right, it does!" Neil exclaimed, and, to the confusion and low-level alarm of the first years, he went into another series of barking false laughs which, after an overly long period, stopped abruptly. Harry, for his part, had a flashback to Neil claiming that Albus Dumbledore liked to keep people off balance by acting mad. He wondered if their Prefect had decided to emulate this behavior or if he was simply strange. "And, as the Prefect responsible for you lot, it falls upon my shoulders to make sure that you have the means to do so! March, firstlings!"

And, pumping his right fist, he proceeded to about-face and march off in a soldierly fashion. The first years, all wondering if their chaperon was completely all right, followed.

Neil did not go far, stopping before a massively huge painting of a bowl of fruit, where he stood with his hands on his hips, waiting for the first years to get back into formation before him. When they were assembled and lined up, Neil gave off several more barking laughs before saying, "And here we have it!"

The first years looked around at each other in perplexment. "It's a nice painting," Hannah said.

This was, unfortunately, the wrong thing to say if one were trying to spare oneself from another series of barking false laughs, which Neil proceeded into. This one went on and on for at least thirty seconds. "Ha! Ha! Ha! Yes!" Neil finally exclaimed. "It's quite nice, isn't it? Never have I seen a finer banana. However! Direct your attentions, young students, here." He stood there, pointing at a pear, for a rather long time. The first years directed their attentions at it as instructed, but shortly their attentions wavered, and they stood looking between each other, all confused, all wondering if the fifth year Prefect had actually lost his mind.

"It's a lovely pear," Hannah said. The way she stared at it, however, suggested that it was the most average pear that had ever been, which it was.

Neil, predictably, barked. "Ha!" he said. "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

They waited. He continued. They fidgeted. He stood there, still pointing at the pear, laughing barkingly. Harry wondered if it might have been better to ask Algernon Silvestris, the very helpful sixth year Prefect, where to get snacks.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Yes," he said. "It's well-painted, isn't it? These fruit paintings were all the work of one Florence di Pignotti. They were painted between sixteen forty-two and sixteen fifty-five. This particular piece is considered her finest, and by far largest, work. Amazingly enough, it was painted in a single hour of frantic activity. Dear di Pignotti, they say, was absolutely possessed by the spirits of the fruit, who yearned to be immortalized in this great work of art. They say that when the painting was done, Florence ate every piece, including the grapes, which were made of wax. Fascinating."

"The bowl is nice, too," Neville said. It was red, with grooves.

"I should think so!" Neil said. "That bowl was the work of one Leonardo di Falcetto, and was considered the finest fruit bowl in di Pignotti's extensive fruit bowl collection. Ah, a fascinating story in and of itself – however! Direct your short attention spans here, at this pear, and watch as it is tickled."

Neil then tickled the pear, which giggled cutely and squirmed, and the painting swung out to reveal the kitchens behind it.

The Kitchens of Hogwarts, as it transpired, were not just a food-preparation facility, but rather an entire village. The room they found themselves in was a massive room, at least as large as the Great Hall. At the center of it was what must have been the kitchen proper: rows upon rows of ovens, magical coldboxes, worktables, hanging herbs and vegetables everywhere, and great hanging slabs of raw meat of all kinds. All of it was worked by the same creatures that Professor McGonagall had conjured in her classroom – house-elves.

But the kitchen was running at minimal activity at this hour, since dinner was past. Instead, hundreds of elves crowded around the dozens of huge sinks and tubs that made up the dishwashing area, where goblets and plates and cutlery all flew around in the air in dizzying chaos, covered in soap, scrubbed by sponges, dunked and dried, all in a soapy tornado of sharp knives, heavy plates and fragile glass.

"Best not to bother them while they're doing the dishes," Neil said.

"But what are they?" Hermione asked, staring in fascination at the little creatures.

"We's is the house-elves of Hogwarts, missus!" one of the little creatures squeaked, appearing before their group with all of the stealth and suddenness of a specter. Hermione and several of the others jumped in alarm. "Come this way, studentses!" the bat-eared blue creature said, skipping away jauntily, occasionally turning around and beckoning, or pausing to usher them all forwards with a strange bow, or just running about their knees like an excited toddler. "This way, this way!" it kept saying as it led them along.

As they were led along, Harry's eyes were drawn away from the chaos in the center of the massive chamber, and he began to notice the strange holes set into each of the walls. Seeing an elf scramble up the wall like frantic spider and into one of the little holes, he wondered if they were tunnels that led to other parts of the castle, or if they were the elves' quarters.

The elf led the students to a corner of the kitchen that was set up like a cafe. A number of human-sized tables and chairs were arranged chaotically there, although everything was immaculately clean. After the elf scrambled around, helping each and every one of them into a chair – and there was just the right number of chairs, Harry noted – it said, "May I take you's orders?"

"Just a minute!" Hermione exclaimed. "I don't understand. You all work here?"

"Of course, missus!" the little thing piped, standing up on its tip-toes and waggling its ears. "We's is the house-elves of Hogwarts!"

"I never knew about this," Hermione said faintly.

"Who did you think made all of the food everyday?" Neil said, spreading his arms wide with a grin. "The house-elves do that! And they do a right good job of it!"

"Thankings you!" the little elf said. "You's is very kind! We's be starting with tea's?"

Neil had only begun to nod when the little elf disappeared. "Wonderful creatures, elves," he said with appreciation.

"Are they related to goblins?" Harry asked with curiosity.

"We's is not related to smelly, evil goblins!" the elf said as it reappeared. Both arms and its head were balancing improbably large tea sets on silver trays. "We's is house-elves," it added with a grin as it rapidly set the tea. "We's be helping wizards and witches!"

"I meant no offense, sorry," Harry said smiling awkwardly at the hyper little creature.

"Puddings and sconeses?" it responded. Harry looked at Neil, whose shoulders rounded into a shrug, which the elf took as an affirmative. It disappeared again, only to return seconds later with a wonderful assortment of deserts and treats for the students.

"The elves don't care for goblins," Ernie explained once they were left alone by their enthusiastic attendant.

"I can't say I blame them," Harry said, thinking about his own experiences with the nasty little creatures that controlled all of their gold. "The house-elves, though … are they slaves?"

Ernie started choking on his chocolate cake. The muggleborns all exchanged looks of shock and alarm. Those who were familiar with elves seemed to be struggling over how to answer that question. Finally, Susan said in an extremely measured voice, "They aren't entirely _unlike_ slaves."

"Susan, you'll give them the wrong idea!" Hannah said. "The elves are _not_ slaves. They love what they do!"

Indeed, Harry had never in his life seen such happy workers. "Still," he said. "Being happy doesn't make you less of a slave, if you're a slave."

"Stop, Harry," Ernie said firmly. "At least while we're here, don't be talking about the elves like that. You'll make them upset."

"I should _think_ they'd be upset!" Hermione exploded. "Harry's right, you know. Even if that little elf seemed really happy, that doesn't make it right!"

Everyone who wasn't staring at Hermione was staring at Harry. Even Neil seemed to be asking him to defuse the bomb he had just lit. But Harry said, "I don't understand, though. Why is it acceptable?"

"The house-elves have to work," Neil said. He seemed very much deflated, compared to how he had been acting on the way to the kitchens. "They will die if they do not work."

"I see," Harry said. "Or actually, I don't. Won't we all die if we don't work? We need to buy food, and things."

"It's not like that for the elves," Neil said. "I mean, they _do_ need food and shelter. But they also _need_ to work. If they aren't helping wizards, they will lose their magic and die terribly. My uncle George works with Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He told me about it once... Can we talk about something else?"

It was with a chilling new understanding that Harry poked at his custard unenthusiastically. Hermione and several of the others were quiet and put out, as well. Megan, Harry saw, looked absolutely horrified. But out of respect for the elves and humans alike, Harry said, "Who do you think is going to win the tourny?" and a grateful Neil started waxing poetic about the various players that had done well in the past and the young new contenders worth paying attention to.

Harry left the kitchens with a sack laden with all kinds of wonderful treats, as well as a new appreciation for what, exactly, being a wizard and a student of Hogwarts really meant. Hermione somehow contained herself until they had all dispersed into the game room and begun to set up their loot on the tables there, but then she dragged Harry off into a secluded corner of the Common Room and said, "What should we do about it?"

Harry wondered when, in the few months he had known her, Hermione had come to rely on him for solutions to problems as intractable as this one. "I don't know," he said finally. "I think we've got to research it more before we start condemning people for it. Then we can talk about what to do about it."

Hermione nodded firmly. "You're right," she said. "It's like what you told me in Herbology yesterday. We're still learning about this world. And I," she added bitterly, "Am just one muggleborn."

"I'm not trying to dissuade you from doing what you think is right," Harry said. "I want to help you. But let's make sure that it's right, first. We can't just do random things without understanding the greater context."

"And without knowing that our plan will work," Hermione added firmly.

"What Neil said bothers me, though. Even if we decide to help the house-elves … he said they _need_ to work, or they'll die."

"There must be a way," Hermione said. "I refuse to believe that there's no way."

"We will research it," Harry repeated. "And when we come to definite conclusions, we will come up with something."

As there was still another thirty minutes or so before the their first Astronomy lesson was set to begin, the diligent duo decided that it was a good time to crack open their new Chinese books.

Magical printing techniques, they immediately noticed, were tremendously useful for learning a foreign language. Their character dictionaries fully animated, demonstrating the proper method to draw the characters similarly to how _The Standard Book of Spells_ had animated wand motion diagrams. Furthermore, _Mandarin Made Managable Magically_ included on the inside of the front cover the portrait of the Chinese-Australian author, a witch who could correct their pronunciation and even hold conversations with them, as well as offer feedback on the exercises found at the end of the chapter. _An Introduction to the Chinese Language_ had a rather incredible feature of its own: the book contained a number of small texts – both poems and prose – which, with the tap of a wand, could be played in a male or female voice and either very slowly or at a normal speaking rate.

"This is going to be easier than we expected," Harry realized.

Hermione nodded vigorously. "These resources are simply incredible," she agreed. "I thought the price was steep, but they're worth it to the knut."

Even so, it was Chinese. "You're getting better, dear," the portrait of Wu Liling told him as he tried to pronounce the simple word for 'hello _,' nĭ hăo_ , for the tenth time. "Keep trying! Say it with me: _nĭ hăo._ " Harry did so, concentrating very hard on the intonation pattern of the syllables, but he knew that it was barely understandable by the portrait of the author. "Try using your finger, like this," the portrait instructed, and drew the letter V with her own finger while pronouncing the first word. Feeling silly and blushing, Harry did as he was told, trying to match his voice to his finger even while he was aware of the fact that people were watching them, now. "Don't be embarrassed, dear!" Wu told him. "You're getting better."

Hermione seemed to be having more success – at least, she had moved on past the very first phrase they were meant to learn. Harry could see that while his excellent memory might eventually help him to memorize the vocabulary, Hermione had a more agile tongue and wasn't affected at all by the people watching them. She was, in fact, completely focused on the task, thoughts of house-elves and billiards and watching Housemates and potions experiments and night-time flying either nonexistant or put aside. Resolving to match his friend's determination, Harry tried his best to put all of the distractions out of mind.

"Wonderful, dear, wonderful. And _nĭ hăo_ to you, too!" the portrait eventually said.

"Thank you," Harry said.

"Oh, heavens, dear! – if you want to thank me, just say _xièxie_."

" _Xièxie_ ," he tried to parrot.

"Very close! _Xièxie_. That's _xièxie_. Go on, give it a try: _xièxie_."

" _Xièxie_ ," he said.

"You've almost got it!" the portrait said. It was, it seemed, always happy with his progress but never really satisfied unless he was absolutely perfect. Harry wondered, vaguely in the back of his mind, how talking portraits are programmed. Do they actually have the knowledge of the person they look like? Or a subset of it? Or do they just know, perhaps, a list of facts that they have been made to know? He wondered if the real Wu Liling had the same personality as this portrait, or if it was constructed specifically for the book.

Hermione was looking at him. He realized that he had gotten distracted, again. The portrait in the book was looking at him expectantly, brow raised, but seemingly patient. " _Xièxie_ ," he said.

"Oh, much better, dear!"

Harry, despite himself, was rather glad that it was time for them all to scurry up to the Astronomy Tower.

"We're going to be late," Wayne moaned.

"Don't worry, Harry and I found out where the tower is this morning. It's basically directly above us," Hermione said.

"How do you know that?" Harry asked. "You weren't even paying attention."

"No, but I had a look around once we got there," she said.

Harry rolled his eyes. At Hogwarts, knowing where something is isn't the same as knowing how to get there. Even so, she was right. Harry had found a staircase on the east side of the ground floor, off to one side of the Entrance Hall, that led directly up to the seventh floor without any doors to the floors in between, except for the third and a third floor which would be how people coming from the other side of the castle accessed it. From the corridor that they ended up in on the seventh floor, the Astronomy tower was accessible by just walking anti-clockwise around the castle a hundred feet or so and then taking another, narrower spiral staircase up to it.

The Astronomy tower was the tallest tower at Hogwarts by a good thirty feet or so, and therefore the only one that provided a completely panoramic view of their environment. The windows were done not with glass but with magic, so the students could poke their telescopes out through them without being buffeted by the harsh winds that one would expect at that height.

All four Houses were represented in the class, and Harry was far from alone in having never operated a telescope, be it mundane or magical. Their teacher, Professor Aurora Sinistra, began by teaching them all how to set up, operate and maintain their equipment. Harry could not help but notice how Ron Weasley's telescope, whose greening copper tube seemed to have a bit of a bend in the middle, contrasted to Draco Malfoy's telescope, which was made of gold-leafed ivory and studded with what looked like sapphires. Both, Harry realized, were likely family heirlooms of a sort. Harry's own telescope was a heavy and sturdy brass thing, chosen for its good value since it had a few extra features and was nearly indestructible except for the fragile lenses. It had fine little etchings all along its length that he had not noticed in the shop – they seemed to be some sort of artfully done cheat sheet.

Astrononmy, Harry soon found, was a joy. He found it strangely both soothing and exhilarating to see the bright light of Venus their teacher directed their attentions to. When their teacher explained that less than a month ago Venus had had a conjunction with Jupiter, Harry felt an actual sense of loss for having not seen the event.

"Professor," Harry said as she passed by where he was set up.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"I was wondering, have witches ever tried to go to the other planets?"

Professor Sinistra smiled widely. "You are not the first student to ask that," she said. "I myself had the same question, when I was where you are now." Then, addressing all of the students, she said, "As some of you may be aware, the muggles have made a great deal of progress in a field that we have long considered impossible, even with magic – for those of you who do not know, the muggles landed on the moon back in 1969, and even now the Americans have an unmanned spacecraft en route to survey Venus."

This simple statement caused a bit of an uproar among those who were unfamiliar with muggle technical advancements. "Impossible," Draco scoffed. "The moon isn't a place you can travel to."

"I beg to differ!" Hermione exclaimed. "How could you not know this? Everyone knows about the moon landings!"

"It's true, Draco," Harry said. "They walked around on the surface of the moon. They stuck an American flag in it."

Draco was nonplussed. Ernie's eyes were just about as wide as dinner plates. Ron Weasley and Sonny Albright thought it was a joke. Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson of Slytherin looked angry at the notion. All of the muggleborns were either alarmed or bewildered by this huge gap in their classmates' understanding of the universe.

Kevin Entwistle of Ravenclaw, who Harry knew was an old blood, had a different reaction. "An _American_ flag?" he said. "Surely, the moon should belong to England!"

Still, Harry had never seen such a collection of lunar landing deniers. Many of them immediately began saying that it must be a hoax, even though they had only just heard about it. Professor Sinistra tried to assure the students that it was very true, but they were from a culture that only very grudgingly accepted the existence of aeroplanes. Finally Professor Sinistra directed their attentions to a satellite that happened to be floating by.

Draco stood, watching the shining satellite with his telescope, for the longest time. Finally, he concluded in a faint voice that somehow most everyone heard clearly, "That object is artificial. It doesn't look like a planet. It's moving way too fast."

"Indeed, there are hundreds of artificial satellites in orbit, now. And unfortunately your personal telescopes won't be able to see this, but the wizards in Switzerland have built a quite impressive magical telescope that's actually able to see where the American muggles landed on the moon," Professor Sinistra said. "They left behind some of their machines, you see."

After what was probably the most eye-opening class all week for many of the students, they all made their way back to their respective Houses, and Harry, for one, was glad that while the old bloods were mostly quiet, they had all stopped saying that muggle spaceflight was a hoax after Draco Malfoy confirmed it with his own eyes.

The billiards tournament, which was already underway by the time the first years returned from Astronomy, turned out to be quite the affair. There was no gambling, which was strictly against the Hufflepuff code of conduct, but there was music, and food, and a lot of butterbeer, and much yelling, cheering and singing. Harry watched with some alarm as Frankie Wooten and another third year boy smashed away on some hand-drums arrhythmically while Becca Albright and Phyllis Cleese, one of her roommates, danced an wild, tribal dance in the middle of the room. Some people cheered them on – many just tried to get out of their way as they swung and jumped around with joyful carelessness – and one girl, who had transfigured her face into an elephant's face, let out a great trumpeting roar and joined in the dancing. Over this scene shot wandsparks and glittering streamers and frantically pulsing multicolored lights, while below them there hung a thin violet mist that made it seem as though they all floated on a sunset cloud.

While a few diehards stood around the billiards tables, anyone could see that that was only the excuse, and not the reason, for the celebration.

"Is it like this every Friday?" Harry asked Algernon Silvestris, who, along with a few other Prefects, stood by the edge of the scene sipping on butterbeer.

"Oh, no," Algernon said. "This is the welcoming home. The other parties are much less – er –"

"I see."

A girl with the face of a tiger came up to Harry and grabbed his hand, and with a cry of "Dance with me, Harry!" he found himself recognizing Hannah's voice as she dragged him to the middle of the room.

He stood awkwardly for a moment, but only for a moment. The crazy thrumming of the drums – the lights and sounds – the animal faces of many of the students – now the elephant girl had gotten a saxophone and was making the most absurd sounds – he found himself giving into the chaos, swinging his limbs and throwing his body around in a burst of motion that could not really be called dancing, but which felt amazing. He was not dancing with Hannah, or with anyone, but rather was just giving into the chaos that they were creating together. He was aware, at some point, of someone transfiguring his face, but he knew not what he looked like, nor did he care – and as more and more human faces became masks, he felt more and more wonderfully lost. He reveled in the anonymity and the madness and the motion until curfew.

Algernon Silvestris and the other sixth and seventh year prefects had the unfortunate duty of breaking up the party around eleven, while the fifth year prefects Neil Northbrate and Tabby Venett waited in the Common Room to make sure that people were going to their dorms rather than anywhere else – and by a quarter past, the game room was deserted, and few if anyone knew who had won the tournament.

"You're a madman!" Ernie said, slapping Harry's back as he came into the first year boys' suite – he was the last of the boys of his year to wander back into the dorms.

Justin leaned very close to Harry and peered at his face from various different angles. "Er –" Harry said. "Justin, what are you doing?"

"Trying to figure out what you are," the muggleborn whose siblings were all wizards said. "You're not a bear ..."

Harry went into the bathroom and looked at himself. "I think I'm supposed to be a hyena," he said. "It's not terribly good, though."

"More importantly," Ernie said. "You're absolutely mad! I think you terrified Hannah, a bit."

"No, I didn't," Harry said. "She's the one that had me dancing to begin with."

"I think she bit off more than she could chew," Wayne said. "You just kept dancing for hours."

"Yeah," Harry said, thinking about it. Actually, he had only stopped for water a few times. Besides that – "Where were you lot?"

The boys all looked around at each other. "Well," Wayne said. "I was watching the games with Neville and Megan."

Harry could picture them – the three, standing at the edge of the crowd around the two tables – he wondered if he had seen them, or if he was just picturing it very clearly. "Who won the tournament?" he said.

"Mikey Sparrow of sixth year won the singles," Wayne said. "And then Eric and Cedric from third year won the doubles."

"It was really shocking, actually," Neville said. "Nobody thought they had a chance."

"I did a little bit of dancing, myself, but I couldn't keep up with you," Justin said. "My face was done as a lizard. Lizards don't sweat! I was practically dying."

"That's not good," Harry said, feeling grateful he'd been done as a mammal, but also wondering why Justin's face was normal now and whether he should have had someone fix his, too. He was pretty sure that it would not be such a great idea to try and do it himself. He wondered if he should run back to the Common Room and see if Algernon was still about. "What about you?" Harry asked, looking at Ernie.

Ernie just looked away. The other boys all looked at him. Apparently, none of them had seen where he spent his time. So Harry knew two things: first, Ernie had seen him act like a madman the whole night, so he had been nearby the whole time. Second, nobody had seen what Ernie himself was getting up to, so he had been out of sight the whole time. Harry had the funniest image of Ernie hiding under the billiards table, watching the whole thing, and he laughed.

"Shut it," Ernie snapped.

"Sorry," Harry said. "Where were you, though?"

"I was just having a chat with someone," Ernie said. Something about it made it seem like he was not going to say anything else on the matter.

"Did you have your face transfigured?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Maybe," Ernie said.

"I really should have had someone fix my face," Harry said, feeling his rather powerful mandible with his hand. It was definitely odd.

"Nah, don't worry about it!" Justin said with a snicker.

"Yeah, it suits you," said Ernie.

Harry was glad that the other boys were all pretty worn out and not interested in staying up much later than that, even though they had no classes the next morning. That meant by the time one-thirty came around, the other boys were all fast asleep.

Or so he thought. When Harry got up and started putting his pants and shoes on, Ernie whispered, "Where are we off to?"

"Oh! Hey Ernie," Harry said softly in surprise. "Just going to the bathroom."

"Are you going to use that excuse for everything? I don't think you'd be getting dressed just to have a piss."

Harry, chagrined, knew he was caught. With a sigh he said, "Get your shoes on, then."

Ernie grinned and hurried to get his clothes on.

At the Common Room, they found Frankie Wooten, Becca Albright, Tosha Timely, Samantha Fleck, Phyllis Cleese and Morgan Norwitch all waiting for them, crowding the rather dark corner conveniently by the exit.

"Who's the scratchmark?" Frankie said when he spotted that Harry wasn't alone.

"Ernie Macmillan. He caught me sneaking out and wanted to come along. He's all right."

Frankie and the fourth year girls all peered at Ernie. Becca said, "You vouch for him, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said, clasping Ernie's shoulder. "Ernie's no nark."

"All right," Becca said. "That's good enough. Let's go."

"Are we going flying?" Ernie whispered. He had spotted the broomsticks Frankie, Tosha and Samantha were holding.

"Yes," Harry said.

Ernie nodded very slowly. "You didn't really take a flying class over summer, did you?" he said.

Harry frowned at his friend. "You're pretty sharp, Ernie," he acknowledged. "Listen, this is a secret. All right?"

"More importantly," said Ernie. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

They made their way into the first secret chamber, the caved-in passageway at the end of Hufflepuff Hall. Ernie, to Harry's amusement, made much the same remarks as Harry himself had made when he saw the mass of boulders and various other detritus. "We're not getting through here," he said. "We should just go back to the Common Room. There might still be a few butterbeers."

"Not likely," Samantha Fleck said with a wink.

Nobody explained to Ernie about the Why-Try charm, they just all went over to the wall on the left side and began the process of figuring out the code for the night. Harry, for his part, was relieved that none of the older students had noticed that there was a potions lab hidden within the debris – apparently he had chosen his hiding place well.

This time, it only took about a minute for Becca to open the second secret door. "That was quick," Harry remarked.

"The first one each year is a bit tricky," Becca explained. "You have to think through all of the different codes that there were over the summer … but this time, we were just here a few days ago, so it's a lot easier."

"Right," Harry said. "The code is based off the previous night's code."

"Something like that," she said cryptically.

"Are you the only one that knows the code, Becca?"

"I am now," she said. "Tonks used to be the boss, you know. But she graduated last year."

"And left the Church in Becca's capable hands," Samantha Fleck added.

"The Church?" Ernie repeated, perplexed.

Harry laughed. "The Church of Our Lady the Saint of Mischief," he explained.

"The hoodlums of Hufflepuff," Tosha added.

"It's a tradition going back to the 1930's," Morgan Norwitch explained. "We've kept the secrets and the spirit of Our Lady alive since then."

"But how have I never heard about this?" Ernie said. "All my family are Hufflepuffs."

"Well," Becca said, "Obviously they weren't very cool."

Ernie nodded, apparently thinking about all of his older family members. "No," he said. "Actually, they probably weren't."

The others all laughed.

"There's the matter of the vow. Tosha?"

Tosha told Ernie the oath, and like Harry had a few days before, Ernie swore to never reveal the secret passageway, or any of the secrets of Our Lady the Saint of Mischief, to any prefect, nark, Fendor, or Otherwise Shady Individual.

"That would be why I've never heard of it," Ernie realized. "My family were all prefects."

"Well, you aren't," Tosha said. "You can't be, now."

Ernie frowned.

"Is that an issue?" Becca added rather sharply.

"Not for me," said Ernie. "My mum is going to be upset, though."

"But what about you all?" Harry asked. "I mean, out of the five of you girls, won't one of you be made prefect next year?"

"Nope," Samantha Fleck said. "That's what Stiffly is for."

Sharon Stiffly, the fourth year girls explained, had ratted on Becca, Samantha and a boy in their year called Maxwell Prendergast for nicking potions supplies from Professor Snape, way back in first year. The three students had had to serve a solid month of detention. Ever since then, the other girls, and most of the boys, in their year pretended that she didn't exist, which is why Harry hadn't ever met her. "She has Leonard, though," Phyllis explained. "And Shoe talks to them sometimes."

"But won't Stiffly be suspicious if she notices that _all five_ of her roommates are missing?" Harry reasoned.

"She won't notice," Samantha said airily. "Stiffly always gets a good night sleep. She still doesn't realize that Morgan enchanted her pillow."

"It's a bit of work, that," Morgan Norwitch said. "But it's better than having to slip her a potion at dinner whenever we want to sneak out."

"So true," Frankie said, apparently thinking about his own troubles with slipping people potions.

"I love it when you say that," Samantha said, walking behind Frankie and hanging her arms over his shoulders.

"He says that practically every time he opens his mouth," Becca pointed out.

Everyone looked at Frankie. It was clear that he really wanted to say it, but he didn't. They all laughed. Samantha kissed him.

"Speaking of slipping people potions," Ernie said. "We've made some progress on that front."

"Oh, that's right! You wanted to tell me yesterday," Harry said. "Well, what's the plan?"

"I thought we might show Zabini how to do a _Wingardium leviosa_ ," Ernie said smugly.

"I think I get it," Harry said, imagining the scenario.

"Harder than you think, boys," Becca said. "Many have tried to levitate a ball of liquid. Few have failed to make a mess."

"Speaking from experience?" Harry asked.

"Possibly," she said slyly.

"I think I can do it," he said.

"Harry can definitely pull it off," Ernie said. "He's a legend."

Becca shrugged. "I'm not saying it can't be done," she said. "Phyllis could probably do it. But a little firstie?"

"Harry is a legend," Ernie said again, like that was all that anyone needed to know about it.

"Ah, a fanboy, are we?" Samantha said, smiling at him in a most patronizing way.

Ernie shook his head. "Not hardly," he said. "Don't you know how good Harry is at magic?"

The girls and Frankie all exchanged looks. Frankie said, "I don't think we've seen him do magic. He's good on a broom, though. That's what counts."

Harry had to laugh. "I'm all right, considering I've done it once," he said. "This might be my last chance to practice before the try outs though. I doubt I'll be good enough."

Tosha slapped Harry quite roughly on the back. "You'll get it," she said. "If not Seeker, they'll have to make a Chaser out of you. You're too good. Morgan and I only managed to pinch a few butterbeers," she added to Becca.

"Really?" Becca said. "You had one job."

"We _were_ able to get some fire whiskey, though," Morgan added with a smirk.

"That might just work!" Becca said with a laugh. "And here we are!"

Becca opened up the peephole at the end of the tunnel, and they all fanned out into the expanse of the cave. Harry helped Frankie start a fire in the fire pit while Tosha led Ernie outside to show him the view. Becca, Morgan and Phyllis set about unshrinking and setting up a number of couches and chairs that they had presumably nicked from the castle. Samantha Fleck stood around and didn't lift a finger, watching smugly as the other girls set up the furniture.

"Courtesy of the Fendors," Becca explained. "Lee Jordan let Sam come up and visit their dorms last night."

"Hard to say no to this," Samantha said, gesturing vainly at her own body.

"Right," Becca snorted. "Especially when you pick on the younger boys."

"Frankie doesn't mind," Samantha said, wrapping an arm around him and yanking him down to the couch.

"So true," he said faintly.

"Anyway," Becca said, turning away from the pair with a roll of the eyes. "That Fendor boy let Sam into their Common Room. Now how's he going to rat on her for stealing the furniture, when he's the one that let her in?"

"Oh, Lee wouldn't," Samantha dismissed. "He doesn't care about the furniture."

"Well, the important thing isn't that he _wouldn't_ talk, but that he _can't_ talk," Becca said. "Not if he's guilty, too."

Harry took this in, realizing that Becca was trying to impart an important life lesson on him: don't bring anyone in on your plan unless you can control them. "Got it," he said. She winked.

"I'm glad there's nobody like Stiffly and Leonard in our year, though," Harry said.

"Don't be too sure," Phyllis said warningly.

Morgan nodded sadly. "We thought Stiffly was all right, at first," she said. "That's why we talked openly around her. But then she did what she did."

"Ernie's all right, at least," Harry said. "He's helped me out a lot, you know."

"Yeah, he seems all right enough," Becca said. "But I wonder about that girl you hang around with. Isn't she a bit uptight?"

"Hermione?" he asked. He frowned. "Yeah," he had to admit. "She is a bit uptight, sometimes. She'd never get me in trouble, though."

"I'd be more worried about Justin and Hannah," Ernie said as he came back in. "Those two … they have big mouths, you know."

Harry's frown deepened. It was true. Hannah, especially – Harry remembered how she had outed Susan for her bird obsession. They might not even need someone to sell them out, if Hannah decided to blurt it out. "The problem," Harry said, "Is that it's a bit too late, now, isn't it? Everyone is involved in the Zabini thing."

Ernie shrugged. "We'll just have to see, won't we?"

"It's a trial by fire," Becca said seriously. "You'll know who your friends are soon enough."

"Ironic, that," Harry pointed out. "A witch advocating trial by fire."

Harry was eager to get into the sky and clear his mind. Samantha had brought a third broom, and with her being there to distract him, Frankie had no interest in flying. So Harry flew and tossed a conjured ball around with Tosha and Ernie, who turned out to be pretty decent, although he almost fell off at one point trying to catch a low ball. "We ought to get a proper Quaffle," Ernie groused after he recovered. "This little ball is hard to see."

After two hours or so it was getting bitterly cold and only Harry wanted to keep going. Tosha wouldn't let him fly by himself, so they all came back into the nice warm cavern. They found Morgan strumming and picking away a slow-paced folk song on what looked like an eight-string guitar, everyone else sitting around the fire, placidly listening (in Samantha and Frankie's case) or slowly swaying (Becca and Phyllis). It was getting late, Harry realized when he saw them all – they were all winding down.

"Done so soon?" Becca asked.

"It's frigid out," Tosha explained.

"Well, it's warm in here. Drink?"

Tosha eyed the half-full bottle wearily for just a moment before she knocked it back. Harry jumped when she loudly belched a great plume of orange flames. "Fire whiskey?" he asked.

"I think you're too young, Harry," Samantha said.

"Never thought I'd hear _you_ say that," Becca said. Phyllis and Tosha both laughed, eyeing Frankie who looked to be barely awake, leaning on his girlfriend for support.

"He's only a year younger!" Samantha exclaimed. "And look at him. He's way better than the boys in our year."

"He's cute," Becca conceded. "But I wonder if he's _mature_ enough."

"I would never," Samantha pouted.

"Never?" Frankie asked sleepily.

"Well," she said. "Not never."

Frankie smiled, and seemed to finally pass out completely.

"I hardly think Harry and I are too young for a swig of fire whiskey," Ernie said. He seemed rather eager. "We've had it plenty of times."

" _Really_?" Phyllis said. "How many times?"

"Well," Ernie said. "At least once. In fire nog."

The girls all laughed at him (except for Morgan, who was extremely focused on her strange guitar).

"More importantly," said Ernie, "Let's see it here."

"No," Tosha said.

Ernie just scowled.

Becca said, "Oh, I don't know. If not now, in this safe environment –" she had to laugh "– the boys will just do it on their own, won't they?"

"Becca!" Samantha, Phyllis and Tosha all exclaimed.

Becca Albright just shrugged and said, "Well, little Ernie, I guess you're out of luck."

"Let me see the bottle, here," Harry said. Tosha looked stunned, but to Harry's surprise she handed it over to him without comment. Harry took out his wand and pointed it down the neck of the bottle and said, "Thanks. _Wingardium leviosa_!"

A large blob of amber liquid slowly rose out of the bottle. "Don't waste it!" Becca exclaimed. Morgan was still playing music, but Harry could tell by the way she slowed down and lost rhythm that she was watching with interest.

The blob was too large. It must have been two or maybe three shots worth – several doses of potion worth. He had to separate it. Harry tried very hard to think of the volume of a mouthful, and envision that amount breaking off from the amber blob. But the fluid wanted to stay together, and he ended up with two balls with a stream of liquid floating between them. He reached out with his mind and tried to cut them apart. One blob dropped instantly, but then he caught it before it hit the ground. Now he had two mouthful-sized volumes, spheres of amber liquid, floating between the group.

"I'll take one!" Morgan said.

"And me!" Becca exclaimed.

They exchanged a glance, their eyes playing out their hilarity, while they propped their mouths open and stuck out their chins. Harry slowly maneuvered the first one in front of Morgan's face. When it was close enough, she first sucked half of it up, swallowed, then lurched out and grabbed the remainder in her mouth. Then Harry brought the second one to Becca. She just sat there, mouth open, eyes darting between Harry and the liquid. "Lean back," Harry told her. She leaned back, and he very slowly dropped the ball of fire whiskey into her mouth.

Both girls let out loud, fiery belches.

Harry grinned. "That'll work," he said.

"Brilliant," Tosha said. "I couldn't do that."

"Harry's a legend when it comes to the levitation charm," Ernie said. "I knew you could do it, mate."

Harry tried to contain his self-enthusiasm. "Well, it'll be harder slipping something to Zabini," he said.

"Still though," Ernie said. "A bit more practice, and I wonder if you can do that quickly enough nobody notices. More importantly," he added, turning to Tosha. "Why did you give him the fire whiskey but not me?"

"Oh," Tosha said. "Well, Harry's not likely to go overboard, I think."

Ernie looked quite irritated by that, but only for a moment. Then he said, "That was brilliant, though. Flying. I might try for Chaser."

Tosha snorted very loudly, then covered her face in embarrassment. When she recovered, she said, "Good luck, Ernie," with a sweet smile. But Ernie was still put out by it.

"There's no way they're taking on _two_ first years," Becca said, waving her hand dismissively. "And there's no way they're _not_ taking on Harry here."

"You're probably right," Ernie said. He seemed more chagrined than actually upset, now. "Maybe next year."

"I dunno," Harry said. "I saw some boys practicing the other day. I think you could out-fly them all day. Why don't you try out?"

Ernie gave him a big grin that didn't reach his eyes – or rather, in his eyes there was something negative. "Nah," he said, grinning. "I'd only embarrass myself. But maybe another year."

Tosha, ever the realist, was looking at the whole thing quite critically, including very long term planning. "Actually," she said. "You're pretty broad in the shoulders for a firstie. I think in a few years, you'll have a good build for a Beater or a Keeper. Just make sure you eat plenty of hearty food, and exercise, and by year four you'll be big enough."

"Do you think?" Ernie said. He started sort of feeling around his body, checking out his shoulders, and then asking Harry to compare how long their arms and legs were. "Well," he concluded, "I'll definitely be a right bit bigger than this guy."

"I'm really only interested in Seeker," Harry said. "But I'll try out for Chaser, too. Assuming Mallory decides to do try outs for all positions."

"Didn't I _tell_ you?" Tosha exclaimed. "Mallory's made the call. They're doing it – try outs for everything. Except one of the Chaser slots, I suppose, since he's Chaser."

"Excellent!" Harry said. "We should practice some more, don't you think?"

Ernie and Tosha wavered indecisively, but the other girls were all adamantly opposed. "Nah," Samantha said. "I've got to get this one to bed." Frankie, now leaning much more heavily on her, had started quietly snoring.

"Actually, maybe you could help us with something, little Ernie," Becca said as she opened the peephole-portal and led the group through.

"Oh? What's that?"

"Well, Harry and I need to run a little errand later this morning –"

" _Do_ we?" Harry said.

" – so we'd be obliged if you could cover for us. You know, in case Mr. Popular's roommates start missing him."

"Sure," Ernie said. "Of course I'll cover for him."

"Ernie's got my back," Harry said stoutly, giving the other first year a light rap on the shoulder. Little gestures like that made all the difference, after all. "But, what errand?"

"Well, we've still got to get you a broomstick, haven't we?"

Becca told Harry to bring a set of plain robes and of course his bank vault key and meet her in a specific second floor broom cupboard at precisely 8:35 the following morning. So Harry, whose face Morgan had finally un-transfigured, and who was feeling a bit giddy from a large slurp of Power-Through Potion, made sure to get a good amount of food in before zipping off, telling his yearmates something about needing to find a book in the library.

That was the plan, basically – Harry would say he's going to the library, then Ernie would volunteer to check on him in case anyone got anxious about him after a while – and, if Hermione or someone else tried to follow Ernie to the library, he would suddenly remember, just as they made it to the library, that Harry had said something about going to the Qudditch pitch (but they might as well search the library first) – and, once at the Qudditch pitch, Ernie would suddenly remember that Harry had said he wanted to send off some mail (but they might as well check the stands) – and so on.

So, at 8:33 Harry was waiting in the appropriate closet, and at 8:35 precisely Becca slipped in the door.

"Change," she ordered, already stripping off her robes and replacing them with a nice floral print robe in what Harry thought was probably the fashionable cut – it showed off her left shoulder and the tails came to an elegant point at the opposite thigh rather than in the back. Harry shrugged off his own robes and threw his dark blue ones on over his shirt, and swapped his stiff Hogwarts hat for a modern floppy-topped one. The clothes he wore now weren't the cheap ones he had bought before he had access to his gold, but instead rather sensibly fashionable robes from one of the nicer shops. "We've got to be quick," Becca said, and she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the closet.

Just down and across the hall, Becca knocked sharply on a door, waited about twenty seconds, and then let herself in.

It was Professor Sprout's office, easily recognizable by the massive amount of magical and mundane flora that decorated it, making it look like a tiny, stone-walled jungle. Becca raced across the room and darted into a door that was partially concealed by some kind of purple ivy, Harry following. By the time he caught up to her, she was already igniting the fireplace in Professor Sprout's personal chambers.

"Floo travel," Harry realized as she threw a bit of powder into the fire, turning the flames green. He remembered reading about it the other night in _The Ultimate Survival Guide to the Wizarding World for Muggleborns by Muggleborns_. "Where to?"

"My place," Becca said. "Have you been in the floo before?"

"No, never."

Becca frowned. "'Fraid of that," she said. "That's all right. Just keep your chin tucked in, and some people like to cross their arms over their chests. I guess that part doesn't matter for boys. In you get, and say _Albright House, Litchfield Street, London_."

Harry quite nervously stuck first one toe and then his whole body into the fireplace, tucked in his chin, crossed his arms over his chest, and repeated the address.

Harry felt as though he was going down a bathtub drain in reverse. His body, somehow made incredibly plastic, spun up into the chimney above him, rocketing out under the propulsion of a gout of green flames. There was a flash of Hogwarts below him – far, far below him – and then suddenly he was rubberly banging his way through what seemed to be a rapid-fire slideshow of living rooms and offices, each scene lasting only a hundredth of a second. And then, as abruptly as gunfire at night, he was tumbling forward in a somersault that was all flailing limbs, and found himself lying bruised and breathless on his back on a thinly-carpeted stonework floor.

Harry, trying to get his breath, had not even begun to get his bearings when Becca came out of the fireplace at a jog only to trip on him and flop, face forward, onto the carpet.

"What the hell are you doing on the floor?" she demanded.

"Sorry," Harry said, trying to untangle his legs from hers and stand. "I had a rough landing."

Looking around at the room, Harry found that what sparse decorations there were were largely covered in white and brown sheet cloths. The floor had a thin layer of dust, and there were cobwebs in some of the ceiling corners. Under the grime, though, Harry took in what had to have been the parlor of an elegantly modest Georgian townhouse.

"Is this your house?" he asked, confused by the apparently abandoned building.

"Yes. Well, no, of course not," Becca said. "This is just our city house. But my dad's retired now, so we never come here any more. We live in Suffolk."

"I see," Harry said.

"Anyway, let's not linger here. It's filthy, anyway," Becca said, looking around with distaste.

She led them to the front door and out, and immediately Harry's senses were bombarded with the sounds and smells and sights of Central London. "You're right by Charring Cross!" he exclaimed – and indeed, the intersection of Charring Cross and Litchfield Street was only forty feet away or so.

"Of course," Becca said like it was perfectly natural to live in the middle of a muggle commercial center. "Hurry along – fewer spot us, the better." She took him by the hand and dragged him at a quick clipping pace.

"That's right, though – we're in robes!" Harry exclaimed.

"The front door is enchanted," Becca explained. "It puts a weak Notice-Me-Not on you when you exit. It only lasts a few minutes, though."

However, as they walked rapidly through the crowds, Harry felt that he _was_ being noticed. In fact, people all around were turning and looking at them and smiling and nodding and occasionally waving. "I don't think the spell is working," he muttered.

"It's not really a Notice-Me-Not," Becca said. "It's actually a Just-Humor-Me Charm. They think we're wearing silly costumes, but they'll never wonder why. Also they can't really make out what, exactly, we're saying, even though it sounds like perfectly normal English to them. We used to have a regular Notice-Me-Not, but people would sometimes bump into you. This works better in the city."

"All right," Harry said slowly. The things that were done with magic continued to amaze him, sometimes, especially these charms that affected people's perception. He wondered if this, too, was a kind of mind magic.

Becca's house in London, it turned out, was only about two or three minutes' walk from the Leaky Cauldron. They hustled in – Becca favoring the girl at the bar with a brief "Morning, Martha!" – and out the other side, into the Alley.

Diagon Alley was every bit as populated as it tended to be on nice Saturday mornings – that is to say, more populated than a terrible Wednesday morning, but still practically vacant. It continued to amaze Harry how this financial center of wizarding Britain was so sleepy in the mornings, whenever he came.

They hustled right over to the bank, walking down one edge of the Alley rather than down the middle, Harry noted. Becca said, "Meet me in the cafe when you're done," pointing to a cute little place with a mansard roof and elegant white brickwork across the road.

Harry just nodded and went into the bank.

The goblins were every bit as rude as usual. Even on the cart ride down to his vault, when Harry attempted to make small talk, the pale bluish-skinned goblin known as Nobgnawer only favored Harry with dark grin.

He shoveled no less than five thousand galleons into his tiny coin purse, hoping to acquit himself from returning to the bank for a long time to come. Even with the charms on the purse to make it feather-light, it actually weighed as much as a heavy book when he was done stuffing it full. The risk of losing such a huge amount of money he evaluated as worth it to avoid seeing another goblin for a while.

Harry found the cafe Becca had chosen very comfortable and cute. It was decorated with what appeared to be a mix of various French-themed bricabrac along with a number of family mementos, along with a great number of house plants and mismatching, comfortable furniture. It was quite low-ceilinged on the ground floor, but with the quaint decor and the gently crackling cherry wood in the fireplace it seemed more cozy than claustrophobic.

"This is a nice place," Harry said as he sat down next to her on a sofa.

"I've always liked it here," Becca said. "They're anarchists, you know? The owners. They're really great."

Harry, who didn't exactly know what anarchism would mean in a wizarding context, just nodded and asked Becca what she was drinking.

"Just a latte," she said. "Are you ready to go?"

Harry nodded, so Becca left a few silver sickles on the saucer under her half-finished drink, and they left the shop. "While we're here," Becca said. "Do you have any other errands?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, actually. I could use a few more cauldrons, and some ingredients."

"A few more cauldrons?" Becca asked, arching a brow. "How many cauldrons could one boy need?"

"Just a few more," Harry said, shrugging.

The potions supply store that had earned Harry's dedicated patronage with their excellent service over the summer was just a few doors down. Harry first selected a number of ingredients that he thought would be useful, then grabbed two twenty-four packs of standard-sized phials, along with four cauldrons – two of the small personal kinds he already had, and two medium-sized ones. He also bought two books that happened to catch his eye.

"I didn't realize you fancied potionswork," Becca said, observing Harry as he stuffed all of these supplies into the charmed canvas bag the clerk had given him.

"I love potions," he said enthusiastically. "I think it's my favorite subject – so far, anyway. The things you can do are just astonishing."

"So I've heard," Becca said blandly. "I can't stand Snape, though."

"Severus Snape?" the clerk asked. "Is he still at Hogwarts, then?"

The clerk was a young man, probably in his mid twenties or so, of average brown hair, average height and average build. His face was marked with just a few more wrinkles than you might expect of someone his age, particularly around the forehead, which had several long, wide creases. "Are you familiar with the old snake, then?" Becca asked.

"Well, of course," the vendor said. "He took over for Slughorn in my brother's sixth year … his NEWT results were disastrous. The man's a scab on humanity, if you ask me."

"That's pretty harsh," Harry said.

"Accurate," Becca said.

The clerk nodded. "The man's single-handedly ruined the reputation of Hogwarts potioneering," he said. "A thousand years worth of history, down the drain."

Harry frowned. "You mean things have really gone downhill that much under Professor Snape?"

The young man nodded emphatically. "You go to Hogwarts thinking you're getting the best education, right? But I did better at Shaftly School than my brother did at Hogwarts. My parents were so disappointed in him. I don't think it's his fault, though – there's been a whole generation of mediocre potioneers from Hogwarts."

"I'm pretty shocked you're saying it's your favorite class, actually," Becca noted as they walked out of the shop. "Nobody likes that class."

"I don't like it because of Professor Snape," Harry said, laughing. "The man's a right bastard. I mean, you should see how much better Neville does when Professor Snape isn't lurking in the corner. Neville's been helping with our little prank," he added.

Becca nodded in understanding. "You just don't care because you love potions, is that right?"

"I suppose so," Harry said, grinning. "I'd love Potions class even if it was taught by a Death Eater."

Becca frowned darkly, though. "You know," she said. "I wonder about that. I mean, the man's always had that _dark_ vibe."

"I really doubt he's a Death Eater, though," Harry said, shocked at her suggestion. "I mean, why would a Death Eater want to work under Albus Dumbledore? Why would he hire one?"

Becca shrugged. "A lot of Death Eaters are doing really well, you know. Some of them even made a nice profit off the war. But I'm not saying I think he was one – you're right, that's not likely. I just wonder if he maybe sympathized with that side."

"Even so, why would someone like that want to be a school teacher?"

Becca said, "Hogwarts isn't just any old school. I can think of loads of reasons why someone like that would want to work there. But, well, you usually can't figure out a clever person's motivations just by looking at their actions. Remember that."

Harry nodded. It was good advice. An intelligent person's actions won't betray their motives if their motives are nasty – and someone like Professor Snape, you could assume they were. Keeping that in mind, Harry realized, might save his life one day.

Quality Quidditch Supplies was an amazing shop, but Harry went into it with the uncertainty of one who's about to make a big purchase without proper planning ahead. "What broom?" he wondered, looking around at the brooms that dominated a great rack that covered the entire rear wall of the shop.

"I don't really know a lot about brooms," Becca admitted. "Didn't you do any research?"

"Not really," Harry admitted quietly. "I thought it was pointless to ask Tosha. She'd just tell me to buy the Nimbus."

"You're not interested in the Nimbus, then?" Becca said, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, even I know that it's the best."

"I don't care," Harry said. "It's not right what they did."

"Hello!" said a very happy voice. Harry jumped in surprise at having their quiet conversation so rudely and abruptly interrupted. Becca, he noted, didn't seem particularly surprised at all – perhaps this was just how salesfolk were in the wizarding world. "Hello and welcome to my little broomshop. Are we interested in buying a broom today, or are we just having a look around?"

"We're customers," Harry said, taking in the appearance of the man. He was a middle-aged wizard who seemed to believe that the best way to hide one's balding was to just shave the whole head – although you could see a crown of salt and pepper stubble around his temples. He wore a special kind of black and white-striped robes that even Harry could recognize as a Quidditch uniform, although without any of the pads or anything, representing a team from Falmouth whose emblem was a highly stylized bird of some kind. His jaw, Harry noticed after a second, hung slightly to one side of his face. "We're looking for a good quality sporting broom. What's the best one, besides the Nimbus 2000?"

"Besides the Nimbus?" the man echoed, sounding as if he thought it were some kind of riddle. "A good quality sporting broom besides the Nimbus. Well … really, the Nimbus is the best," he said with obvious devotion, "but there are a number of brooms that may be more appropriate for a young man like yourself. Of course we carry the latest Comet, the 270 Revision C, as well as the Cleansweep Seven Model B. Both were released just months ago, and both are really quite good for the price."

"I see," Harry said. "What would you consider to be the main difference, then?"

"Well," the man said thoughtfully. "The Comet has a bit more get-up-and-go, as well as better breaking. The Cleansweep, on the other hand, has an overall higher top speed, although it's pretty slow to accelerate. It's also got a much steadier overall feel-of-flight thanks to its advanced stability enchantments. I think you'll find the Comet has better turning at low speeds, while the Cleansweep might be easier to handle at high speeds. They're both remarkably similar brooms, though, over all."

Harry thought about everything the man had said, trying to figure out which would be better for a Seeker, but he really didn't know enough about the sport to figure it out.

"Is there any way to take a test flight?" he asked.

"Oh, my," the man said. "A test flight?" the idea seemed to completely puzzle him.

"Never mind," Harry said. "Just let me think about it a bit."

"Oh, of course, young man. This is a very big purchase, after all. Your first broom?" he added knowingly.

"Yes," Harry admitted, although he felt embarrassed by the fact for some reason.

The salesperson nodded with a smile. "Well, perhaps a family broom would be better? The Bluebottle is always dependable."

"No, I need a racing broom," Harry said. "I'm going to be Hufflepuff's Seeker. I think I like the look of the Comet 270-C."

"It is a fine enough broom," the man said. "Quite an able flier – more than capable enough, I think, for a school team. Although, if I might say ..." the man hedged for a moment, then said, "The Nimbus really is the better value. The price is very similar, but the performance is in another league."

Harry frowned. Now this salesperson was really starting to bother him. But, realizing that the man's life revolved around brooms, Harry decided that perhaps the man would understand if he just told him the situation. "Unfortunately, I really can't buy a Nimbus broom. My friend's family owns Bartleby Brooms."

"Ah," the man said abruptly. "That would be difficult. I see. Unfortunate friend to have, though. Er – excuse me, I don't mean it like that. Unfortunate situation, though."

"Yes," Harry said shortly. "Anyway. I'll take the Comet."

"Of course," the man said. He ducked into the back room of the shop and retrieved a packaged one. It came, to Harry's amusement, in a enormous tin. Inside the box there was the broom, of course, looking quite beautiful, as well as some basic maintenance tools like polish, a fine rag cloth with which to polish, twig clippers, twig wax, and a little booklet. Becca helped Harry count out the seven hundred and forty-two galleons with a money-counting charm. The pile of gold on the counter had Harry's eyes bulging, but Becca and the salesperson didn't react much to it, the salesperson just briefly doing his own counting charm before floating it all into a hole in the floor under the counter.

As they were leaving the store, Becca said, "You know, Tosha said she wouldn't mind if you bought a Nimbus."

"I know," Harry said. "But it would bother me every time I rode it. I can't be distracted during Quidditch, can I?"

Becca smiled down at him. "Sweet of you," she said. "Let's get back to the castle before we're missed."

On their way out of the Alley, Harry couldn't help but notice that there were quite a few people around their age milling about, now. "Is Hogwarts the only school that doesn't let its students out, weekends?" he asked.

Becca scowled. "It's bloody annoying," she stated. "Yeah, there's only two boarding schools – Helsing and Hogwarts. And only Hogwarts forces the students to stay weekends. No idea why, to be honest."

"At least it's easy enough to sneak out," Harry reasoned.

"True enough," Becca said with a sly grin. "Sneaking in can be tricky, though."

The method Becca chose for them to sneak back in turned out to be the Floo back at the French cafe. They purchased a bit of powder for a few knuts, and then they were off to the cafe's Hogsmeade Village sister. The cafe in Hogsmeade was decidedly even cozier – having only one floor, and very cramped arrangements. Becca went up to the espresso station and ordered a "Hog's Finger," whatever that was. The barista smirked and walked around the counter, then led the pair to a door off to the side of the cafe where there was a pantry. Becca handed her a gold coin, and she opened a well-concealed trap door on the floor and ushered the two students in.

"We should change here, I suppose," Becca said, and started to get back into her Hogwarts robes after lighting her wandtip. Harry lit his own wand and followed her directive. Then they were off down a very long and narrow tunnel.

"Where does this go to?" Harry asked.

"The Shrieking Shack," Becca said. "You can't just Floo into Hogwarts. Well, not unless you're permitted. So, we have to sneak in this way."

After a while the tunnel ended in a little stone staircase, at the top of which was a rather rotten-looking wooden door. Becca opened it very carefully, apparently trying to minimize the wear on it, and led Harry into a strange rundown hovel of a shack. Shutting the door behind him, Harry felt it suck itself shut at the last second, and it wouldn't budge when he tried to open it. The door seemed to lead to nothing more interesting than a closet.

"The door?" he asked.

"One-Way Opening," Becca explained. "Of course you know, all of this is under oath."

"Right, of course. What is this place?" he asked, looking around.

"The Shrieking Shack," Becca repeated. "Look out the window."

From the window, Harry could see that they were now on a little hillock off to the side of the road that led from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts Castle, almost directly opposite of the train station. "Are we going to walk the rest of the way?"

"Of course," Becca said. "But not on the road. Come over here."

In the next room, Becca pushed a run-down sofa out of the way to reveal yet another trap door. She jumped down directly, ignoring the ladder, and Harry followed suit after giving her a second to get out of the way.

"Just how many tunnels are there?" he asked, amazed.

Becca shrugged. "A lot," she said. "I doubt anyone knows about all of them, though. Over the years, a lot of people have wanted to get in or out of the castle, and so there's a lot of tunnels."

"But what about the wards?" Harry asked. He had read a bit about wards in _The Survival Guide_ – although it didn't say much, he knew that most important places in the wizarding world were heavily protected by special enchantments known as wards.

"The wards of Hogwarts are very old," Becca said as she led him down the dark tunnel. "And very complicated. The policy of preventing students from leaving whenever they like, on the other hand, is relatively new – well, it's been like that since the late 18th century."

"I don't understand," Harry admitted.

"The wards … well, nobody really know how they were set up, I think. So, they're pretty much impossible to modify, without risking bringing the whole ward complex down on our heads. They're also considered kind of a national treasure – the wards themselves are – so even if you wanted to bring them all down and start from fresh, it wouldn't be a good idea. It would be like tearing down the Big Ben and building a new one. People wouldn't be so keen on the idea. Besides, since nobody knows how they were done, nobody could hope to put up anything half as good today anyway."

"I see," Harry said. "So, the wards don't prevent students from coming and going. They just prevent bad people from getting in?"

"Basically," Becca agreed. "Well, they prevent some kinds of travel, but for the most part you can walk in and out of the wards whenever you like. If you want to hurt the students or something, though, the wards won't let you inside. They say that the castle itself is intelligent, and it can read people's minds to an extent."

"But besides what the wards do, it's up to the staff and prefects to enforce school policy," Harry summarized. "Meaning, if we don't get caught, we're fine."

"We won't get caught," Becca stated.

Harry, by now, had probably covered a solid eight or nine miles worth of tunnels under Hogwarts, not including the dungeons. He was starting to get used to the idea of settling in for a long, dark, narrow walk. So, he was pretty comfortable with the silence they lapsed into. He remembered how Becca had said that Our Lady the Saint of Mischief's tunnel made her feel relaxed, and he could see it in her posture: she walked extremely regularly, but in no particular hurry, and her face, when she glanced back at him occasionally, was completely calm. Harry let his mind wander over to his broom: he couldn't wait to try it out. He was sad to realize that he probably wouldn't have a chance to ride it until try outs on Wednesday – there was no way he could sneak out again tonight, since he needed to sleep after all, and he thought it unlikely that Becca and the others would be keen to go out Sunday night, and didn't want to push his luck by asking for another favor. So he'd just have to wait.

The tunnel, to Harry's surprise, ended not with a staircase or a ladder but with a mess of what seemed to be tree roots. He wondered irrationally for a moment if a tree had grown in their way. But then Becca shot a certain part of the root structure with a stinging hex, and all of the roots quivered and moved out of the way before freezing in place, leaving a small opening in the soil.

Very cautiously, the fourth year girl poked her head through the hole and peered all around. Abruptly, she jerked back and put a finger over her lip for Harry to be quiet. She whispered, "Someone walking by. They'll be gone soon. Nobody lingers here."

Sure enough, when Becca poked her head out again, the coast was clear. She climbed out of the hole, looked around to double-check, and motioned for Harry to come up. Harry scrambled up the root structure as quickly as he could, and then the both of them set off at a jog until they were a good ways away.

"Well, that was fun," Becca concluded with a yawn. "Damn, my Power-Through is already wearing off. How about you?"

"I'm good," Harry said with a grin. Actually, he felt quite giddy.

"All right. I'm going to take a nap, I think. See you later." Becca turned and walked away, throwing a hand in a wave as she went.

Harry looked around, wondering what he should do now. Finally he spotted the Quidditch Pitch – and, more to the point, the students flying around above it. He hurried over to see what was going on.

It was, he realized, the Slytherin team tryouts. Down on the field, a dozen or so students were all lined up, holding their brooms, looking up at the sky, where the Slytherin Captain was running the Chaser hopefuls through a series of drills.

Harry, thinking that he might not want to be spotted by the Slytherin players, climbed all the way to the top of one of the stands by way of the rear staircase, and made himself at home in the little booth that was there. When he arrived, though, it seemed that he had thought it through perhaps a bit too well: the whole booth, and the area around it, was crowded with other students from all houses, all trying to get the best view of the Slytherins.

Harry stood there, looking at them all in surprise, long enough for Draco Malfoy to spot him and flag him down. Harry pushed his way through the densely packed crowd of students. "Hey, Draco," he said. "Hey everyone," he added, addressing Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass, all of whom were watching him with various interest or suspicion.

"Harry! How good of you to join us," Draco said. "Come, sit down, sit down."

Harry did as he was instructed, finding a seat nearby. "Did I miss much, then?" Harry asked Nott, who was next to him.

"Nothing important," the boy said without looking at Harry. He seemed pretty intently focused on the fliers – or at least was acting like he was. Harry turned his attentions to them as well.

"So, Harry, what brings you here today?" Draco asked.

"Oh, just doing a little spying," Harry said flippantly, keeping his eyes forward. Speaking deliberately confusingly, he added, "One must see against whom one is up, after all."

"Hm? You mean who Hufflepuff is up against, I suppose?"

"Yes. Yes, and who I'm up against personally. You should come Wednesday, Draco, and watch our try outs."

This earned him several bold stares from the Serpents. "You mean to say you're trying out?" Nott asked.

"Of course," Harry said, his eyes still on the fliers. "I assumed the rumors were spreading by now."

"Well," Draco said after a while. "We'll just have to come Wednesday, then. It should be a good show."

 _It should give me further motivation to succeed_ , Harry thought. "I'd appreciate your support," he said.

There was a silence for a while, the Slytherins occasionally sending Harry or each other baffled or calculating looks. Eventually, Draco said, "About Zabini –"

"Please, Draco," Harry said. "Not to interrupt, but let's not talk of disgusting things."

"Of course," Draco said with a smirk.

Harry really enjoyed himself, he realized, when he was talking with Draco. Playing little games of words, acting different than he usually acted, it was all quite fun. He allowed himself a small smile as he watched one of the Chaser hopefuls catch the Quaffle by bouning it off his broom bristles and into his hands – then zipping around and throwing the ball through one of the hoops, catching the Keeper hopeful flat-footed and scoring the goal.

"Draco," Harry said after a while. "I was wondering, do you play?"

"Of course," Draco said without delay. "I'm rather good, actually."

"It's a shame that you won't be on the team, this year," Harry said, implying his confidence both that he himself _will_ be and that Draco will be soon enough. "Seeker or Chaser?"

"Oh, either," Draco said. "Of course, little pick up games on the pitch at home rarely call for a Seeker, but I do enjoy it."

Harry took a second to take that in: Draco had just casually dropped the fact that he had a Quidditch pitch in his back yard. Harry wondered just how common that was – it was hard for him to imagine having so much land, having grown up in the suburbs and the city. But then, Becca said that the Albrights had several properties besides the one he'd just been to in London, and Becca and Sonny Albright did not have the airs of the super-rich. Perhaps, then, it was quite common for older families to have many, and sometimes massive, properties. Not for the first time, he wondered about his own family – and now he cursed himself for having not asked the goblins about it while he was at the bank. The damn creatures were just so vile, it had never even crossed his mind to stick around and ask a bunch of questions.

Now Harry, who actually knew very, very little about Quidditch, having never played or even watched a game – he was not even fully confident in saying whether there was one Bludger and two Quaffles, or two Bludgers and one Quaffle – and who had just been reminded how very little he knew about wizarding society more generally, was suddenly worried that if he lingered overly-long he may say something foolish and reveal his ignorance. He tried to come up with some excuse to escape this situation, despite the fact that he had just arrived, despite the fact that he hadn't yet seen the Seeker try outs, but nothing presented itself. He resigned himself to the fact that he would have to remain a while longer, and just be more careful about what he said.

He was half inclined to just jump in and say that his _own_ backyard pitch was quite nice – but then, he didn't know, really, what would make it nice. Was it particularly flat? Did it have special hoops? Nor could he be confident that Draco didn't already know that his family owned no such property.

Instead, at length, he said, "Perhaps we should get together over break, then, and have a bit of sport."

"An excellent idea," Draco said. His tone, somehow, implied that of course _he_ , Draco, had already had the idea but hadn't thought it the right time to mention it. Harry wondered if he had made a mistake already, or if perhaps Draco himself was trying to cover up for his own perceived rudeness. "It's actually a bit of a young tradition to have a bit of an exhibition match over Yule. Of course, you'll be invited."

Harry now realized what had happened: he had just forced Draco into inviting him over for the holidays, when Draco may or may not have been planning on so doing. Now feeling embarrassed for his presumption, but unwilling to apologize for it both out of his own pride and out of his suspicion that that would make matters worse, Harry was briefly tempted to push his luck and ask for a plus-one. However, thinking better of it, he settled on saying, "Of course, I simply adore the sport." This, he thought, would convey the point that he had not intended to impose himself on Draco's presumably mostly-private Yule rituals, but had just gotten carried away by his enthusiasm for Quidditch.

"It _is_ the greatest," Draco agreed airily. He seemed to have understood, if not Harry's meaning, at least the fact that Harry was trying to convey something meaningful. This was confirmed further when Draco proceeded to throw him a bone: "What position will you be trying out for, then?"

"Seeker, of course," Harry said, his tone suggesting that there was no other positions in the sport worth playing.

Harry chanced a glance over and saw that Draco, Pansy and Nott were all peering at him speculatively, now – he wondered if he had said something funny, or what. Goyle, Harry noted, was watching the fliers still but with his eyes narrowed, as if looking for something. Crabbe seemed to be daydreaming.

"Of course," Draco agreed.

Remembering how Draco had bragged about his superior abilities, Harry thought that perhaps it wouldn't hurt for him to do the same, so he said, "Anything else would be a waste of my talents."

"We all can't wait to see you fly, Harry," Pansy said enthusiastically. Harry could not tell if the enthusiasm was false or not – he suspected it was, but it was impossible to say. He favored her with the winningest grin he could muster. But then he saw something that took him aback: Ernie, Hermione and Neville were all there, standing near the staircase that led up to these high stands. They seemed to be having a hushed argument over something – Neville and Ernie trying to convince Hermione. He thought he knew what it was about – Hermione wanted to come over and sit down with them, and the others were trying to tell her maybe not.

Harry found himself thinking that it wouldn't be a terrible thing to mess with the Slytherin group a bit by introducing them to his muggleborn friend – for, he was sure, Hermione's blood status was the reason Neville and Ernie were cautioning her. He thought about it again, though, and he thought that maybe it would be unfair to her to use her as a litmus test. Finally, he realized that of course it was what _she_ wanted, and what he wanted to happen, too; besides, it would be even more unfair to her to exclude her. He lifted his hand and waved.

"Hey, you guys," he said happily. "Glad you made it."

"Glad we made it?" Hermione repeated in surprise. "We've been looking for you for the last hour."

"Oh?" Harry said, affecting concern. "Come sit down. Didn't I say I'd be here?"

"My fault, Harry," Ernie said. "I completely forgot."

"Anyway," Harry said. "Has everyone met? Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe – these are Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger and Ernie Macmillan."

There being rather too many people to do a round of handshakes, all of the boys and Hermione just nodded in greeting. Pansy stood up and curtsied.

"What are you doing out here, anyway, Harry?" Neville asked.

"He's spying," Theodore Nott said, gesturing at the Slytherin team. The Captain was currently directing the Chaser and Keeper hopefuls down to the ground.

"I'll be needing to know what I'm up against. Oh, good, it's Seekers next."

The Seekers were on average quite small, with many female and lower-year students among their numbers. They took to the air – all six of them – and did a few warm-up laps before the Captain released the Snitch. But the Captain was interested in trying the Beaters on the same pass, it seemed – three large boys with what looked like short, very thick cricket bats took to the air as well. Then the Captain released the Bludgers, and took off with a bat of his own in hand.

"But that's hardly fair!" Hermione exclaimed as the Captain nailed one of the Seeker hopefuls' legs with a Bludger, sending the poor girl spinning and crying out in pain. The Slytherins spectators all around cheered and laughed.

"That's Seeker, though," Ernie said. "It's not enough to be able to catch as Snitch in perfect conditions. You've got to be able to deal with distractions."

The flier who had been hit recovered extremely quickly – she spun around like a top three times, but then just took off like a stone from a sling, somehow mastering the rotational velocity and turning it into forward velocity. She flew directly at another Seeker hopeful, who had to swing upside-down and hand by his hands and knees as she clipped dangerously close.

"She's not bad," Nott said.

"She shouldn't have let herself get hit in the first place, though," Harry mused.

The Seeker try outs proceeded along these brutal lines for some time. Every single one of the Seeker hopefuls got pegged at least once with a Bludger by Beater hopefuls eager to show off their power and aim. Even Harry had to cringe a few times, imagining himself getting bombarded by the heavy-looking balls. Most of the other boys seemed to think it was a great show, though.

After this had been going on for a while, the Captain flew down and started talking to the Chaser and Keeper hopefuls on the ground. Several of them he sent away, and out of the rest he charmed half of their robes red and the other half black, and sent them back into the air. All ten Chaser hopefuls were flying about now, trying to make their mark, as well as two of the Keeper candidates, while a third waited in the wings. The Beater contenders, who were not formed into teams, took an everything-goes approach and just tried to knock as many players as they could off their brooms.

Now that the pressure was off, the Seeker contenders changed their tactics. They began to run interference on each other actively, occasionally even shouldering another Seeker, trying to knock them off. Even so, they now had time to think and look around, and it wasn't long before one of them caught the Snitch. The Captain flew up to that Seeker, clapped her on the back, and retrieved the Snitch from her. With the tap of his wand, it became invisible, and then he pelted it in a random direction.

After a two minutes or so, Harry saw it: floating low to the ground, near one of the goal posts. He felt the insane impulse to just jump on his broom and swoop down on it. Of course, he waited patiently, wondering when one of the Slytherins Seeker contenders would spot it.

Nott glanced over at Harry and saw him staring intently at that patch of grass by one of the goalposts. "You've spotted it?" he asked, trying to match his own field of vision to Harry's.

Harry, not wanting to point in case one of the Seeker contenders happened to be looking at them, described its location verbally. "Just there, by the base of the leftmost post. Then about five meters back. It's flitting around the grass."

Nott and most of the other boys squinted where he was indicating. After a while, Ernie said, "I think I see it."

Harry couldn't understand. _He_ was the one with bad vision – the only one, out of this whole group of four Hufflepuffs and five Slytherins to wear glasses. Yet, the little ball was clear as anything to him. It was just a sparkle in the grass, granted, but it was plain. But then he realized: anyone looking for a golden gold ball might not necessarily see a slight sparkle in the grass and realize it's the Snitch.

Finally, someone did. The same girl who had caught it before suddenly broke off from her figure-eight pattern over the pitch and dropped like a rock directly at it.

She caught it, but it wasn't pretty. The Snitch was hovering just inches over the ground, so the girl's directly downwards angle of attack proved to be far, far to steep of an angle for her to pull out of. She smashed hard into the grass and went tumbling.

Everyone in their section of the stands stood up, either gasping in horror or cheering enthusiastically.

The Captain approached the fallen girl at what seemed to be a rather lazy zig-zag and landed by her. He did a few quick spells on her, apparently checking if she was alive. Then he retrieved the ball from her hand, pocketed it, and gathered up a few people who had been loitering around the lawn and sent them to take her to the hospital wing. The Captain himself just floated back up into the air, invisibled and pelted the Snitch, and went back to playing Beater.

"He doesn't seem very worried about her, does he?" Hermione said somewhat breathlessly.

"I'm sure he _is_ worried," Ernie said. "That's going to be their new Seeker, likely."

Ernie was soon proven correct on that. In spite of that girl receiving a severe injury in the process, she was clearly the best at finding the Snitch. The two other girls and one boy were all rather hopeless at the task.

Eventually, Harry became both bored and frustrated, watching the Seekers. "I'm getting pretty hungry," he said. He was, in fact, starving.

"It's nearly lunchtime," Nott said, consulting his watch.

Harry yawned, stretched, and stood up. "Well, thanks for letting us spy on your team, Slytherins," he said airily. "We're off to get some nosh."

The Slytherins all wanted to stay for the last bit of the try outs, so the Hufflepuffs left them there and made their way back all the way around the castle and into the Entrance Hall. The food was already set out when they got there – apparently the lunch hour was longer on the weekends. Ernie and Harry, both feeling the effects of their activity the night before, dug in with particular enthusiasm.

* * *

Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

The Tinkerer

Chapter 9

Weekends of good weather at Hogwarts were a rarity that few students failed to take advantage of. The Hufflepuff first years were no exception. Being on the ground floor, very near to the main entrance of the castle, the great lawns, courtyards and the lake were all within easy reach for the Puffs, and they had little reason to wander the upper halls of the castle over the weekend, unless to make a quick trip to the library. The ten students soon found a very nice patch of lawn nestled in the shade of a ring of ancient yew trees, standing near but clearly separate from the forest. They claimed this place as their own, naming it the Yewring, and spent most of the sunny Saturday and Sunday under the shade of those majestic and ancient conifers.

Harry, Hermione and Neville stole away for an hour or so to make the Babbling Beverage, but other than that, they remained with the other seven first years in that ring of trees, where they all did their homework, played games of cards and Gobstones, and in the case of some, studied their extra subjects of Chinese and Enchanting.

They were sometimes joined by a few others, as well. A group of Ravenclaw first years joined them late Saturday afternoon: Terry Boot and Sonny Albright, along with Kevin Entwhistle, Morag MacDougal and Sophie Roper. Harry, for one, was happy to have them around, especially when it transpired that Sophie Roper had some knowledge of enchanting, due to her father's work as a magical mirror maker. Then on Sunday afternoon, the first years were joined by several second and third years from their own house: Samantha Fleck, Morgan Norwitch, Frankie Wooten, Eric Riley, Cedric Diggory and Haleigh Copperbell. Harry was very pleased to watch Cerie and Morgan form the fast and strong bond that two musicians are meant to share – Morgan showed Cerie a tune or two on her strange eight-string guitar, which Harry gathered was called a bouzouki. Harry was happy to talk to Cedric Diggory as well, once he learned that the other boy also wanted to be Seeker for Hufflepuff. They had a good-natured argument about who would get the position that only increased his anticipation for the coming try outs on Wednesday.

It was a very pleasant time for them all, and they all hoped that there would be several more weekends of sunny, warm weather before the Scottish autumn took hold and transformed the landscape.

Monday morning, it rained, and they all had to wonder if the Yewring would be the same when the storm passed.

Harry and the others had, for almost a week, been carefully designing and preparing for a prank that they all believed would teach Zabini, once and for all, that you should never, ever, mess with a badger. Monday morning, they put their plans into action.

Over the weekend, Harry had thought on Becca's words from Friday night: _the important thing isn't that he wouldn't talk, but that he can't talk. Not if he's guilty, too._ Harry realized that since the Slytherins knew about the Hufflepuffs' plans, the only way to be completely sure that the Slytherins would not blackmail them was to make the Slytherins guilty, too. Therefore, Harry had had a brief chat with Draco the night before, and had arranged for Draco to play a minor but key role in the plan. Harry could have done it without Draco's help, but bringing Draco in on the plan gave Harry and the Puffs an insurance policy.

Harry's role was central. Not only had he designed the key potion for his original plan, but now he was the one actually performing the delivery. He had spent some time over the weekend practicing the art of levitating liquids, and now he was confident in his ability to do what was needed. So, holding two open phials and his wand under the Hufflepuff table at breakfast, trying to act as normally as he could, his friends around him all eating breakfast as if nothing strange was going on, Harry cast the levitation charm.

Two blobs of potion, one transparent violet, one dark, opaque green, seemed to emerge from the phials of their own accord and form the shape of spheres. Harry, left hand picking up a croissant as he continued to casually eat breakfast, used the wand in his right hand to direct the two liquid spheres to their destination.

To avoid being noticed, he took a rather circuitous route, directing the potion spheres all the way around to the edge of the Great Hall and around the entire perimeter of it, high up in the air and out of anyone's casual notice. Then they descended, slowly, in the corner of the Hall closest to Zabini, where the shade of the corner would offer some further concealment. Then they floated just above the floor and right along the baseboard, until they were directly behind their target. The potion blobs came up to Zabini and floated just behind his back, so close to him that any sudden move could ruin them. Then they flitted around his waist where they waited until Zabini was distracted by Draco's words and was looking the other way, and quick as two little mice they floated just over the table top, up the side of his goblet, and into his morning orange juice.

Draco, seeing that the deed was done, took up his own goblet of juice and had a drink, and Zabini followed the nonverbal suggestion, raising his own.

The moment he sipped, his eyes went blank for a second. And then, not yelling but speaking very loudly, the boy stated quite calmly and without any preamble, "I miss my mother."

Pansy Parkinson, sitting directly next to him, had just the briefest expression of glee before schooling her face into one of shock and disgust as she, like almost everyone in the hall, looked at Zabini.

"I hate this country," Zabini said loudly. "It's so cold and everyone here is just so ugly and so stupid. I miss France. France is so much better."

Even Harry could not keep his eyes from widening. He chanced a glance at the staff table – they were all looking at Zabini in puzzlement or alarm, and Professor Snape was getting up from his seat. But he was far too late, Harry knew. This potion did its work very quickly.

Zabini was far from done, however. Even as Professor Snape rushed over to help his bewitched student, Zabini said, "I don't even know who my father is. I don't even know what love is."

At a range of thirty feet or so, Professor Snape snapped his wand at the student, and whatever else Zabini had been about to divulge was lost to the Charm of Silence.

The Great Hall exploded as almost everyone, including most of the Slytherins, laughed, cat-called and taunted the boy who was even then snapping out of the trance-like effect of the Madeleine Episode Potion.

"Who did this!" Professor Snape shouted. "Who did this!"

But there was nothing to be done about it, now. Professor Snape escorted Zabini out of the Great Hall firmly by his arm, even as a Fendor boy yelled loudly, "Maybe Snape'll be your new daddy!"

The rage on Professor Snape's face was like nothing Harry had seen – Zabini's face, contrariwise, was a mask of confusion and fear as he continued to silently babble while Professor Snape dragged him away, presumably to the Potionsmaster's own offices, where he would have an antidote to the Babbling Beverage, without which he'd be able to get no useful information out of the victim.

The Hufflepuff first years were, for the most part, wiping away tears of laughter and heaving big breaths to calm down. There were however several among them who Harry noted did not seem entirely pleased. Hermione, for one, was aghast. Although she tried to school her face, the guilt was as plain as if her hands were covered in blood. Harry could only hope that none of the staff saw her. Harry caught Hermione's eyes and tried to silently urge her to get herself under control before someone saw the guilt. Then there was Megan Jones, ever the shy one, the one who had said they should not cause any trouble. She looked, Harry thought, afraid – of retribution, he assumed, but he could not know. And Neville, Harry noticed, looked torn – it was more than he had bargained for. Susan and Cerie looked more satisfied than amused. Harry, who was trying to affect shock and amusement, felt a similar grim satisfaction as Susan and Cerie wore.

Whatever their feelings, they could not speak freely right there in the Great Hall.

Professor McGonagall stood at the staff table and made a great bang like canon-fire with her wand. "Silence!" she yelled. "Finish your meals and get to class!"

Harry, feeling glad for the excuse, said, "I'm full. Let's get to Herbology?" and the other Puffs all nodded and got up quickly, along with many, many others who were more eager to discuss Zabini's humiliation than finish their eggs.

The rain was coming down rather hard considering that the day before it had been quite clear. The Puffs, all under their umbrellas, some sharing one, made their way as quickly as they could to the warm sanctuary of Greenhouse Four.

"It was too much, wasn't it?" Harry said once they were all inside.

Hermione nodded fervently. "I didn't expect that … we should have expected it, but..."

"It's more important than ever that we all keep quiet," Ernie said somewhat forcefully. "We're all agreed on that, right?"

Ernie looked around at each and every Puff, making sure that they all nodded or verbally expressed their agreement.

"Whether it was right or wrong," Harry said, "We did it together, as Hufflepuffs, to protect our own."

"That's right!" Ernie said.

"That's right," Megan said. Like whenever she rarely spoke, she immediately got everyone's attention with her quiet words. "Maybe we took it too far. But we decided together, so we have to stick together."

"It would be strange for us to not talk about the prank at all," Harry said. "So talk about it. But just be careful about _how_ you talk about it. Say it was a funny prank, don't say it was a good potion. Don't let on that you know any more than anyone else."

Soon, they were joined by the Slytherin students – all except one.

The Slytherins who knew about the Hufflepuffs' culpability in Zabini's humiliation had the sense to act as though they did not. Since Draco had played a role in the plan, naturally it was in their best interests to prevent word from spreading to the members of their House who were still in the dark. So, other than a smirk that could be interpreted in a number of ways, Draco didn't make any remarks on the prank.

An hour into class, they were joined by Zabini. He slinked in like a wounded animal, trying not to attract any attention, an exercise in futility as every eye watched him. When he approached the other Slytherins, they did not make a space for him, and Theodore Nott said, "Nice and warm in here, isn't it Blaise? Just like France." Zabini blanched visibly but just took a seat at the end of the bar, away from everyone.

If the cold shoulder he received in Herbology was bad, what happened next in History was much worse. Unlike Herbology labs, History lectures were given to all four Houses – and that meant Fendors. A trio of Gryffindor boys spotted Zabini sitting alone on the side furthest from the door when they came in, and set up two rows behind him. All of the other students gave them a wide berth in the overly-large lecture hall. The lesson that day was not on goblins wars, but rather on human cruelty: the Fendor boys did not just mock him about his parentage and tell him to go back to France, but were also throwing balls of parchment at the back of his head for the entire first hour of the class. Finally, Ronald Weasley had what was probably one of his all-time best ideas: he wodded up a parchment and poured ink all over it before throwing it at Zabini. Weasley's hands and desk were covered in ink, of course, but it was much worse for Zabini, whose hair was entirely soaked, the ink dripping down his face and neck, ruining his white shirt and tie. Zabini was so humiliated that he just sat there, frozen for a few seconds as the ink slowly dripped down and the Gryffindors and others laughed. Finally in one great heave of motion, he took up his bookbag and fled the classroom, leaving his notes, inkwell and quill on the desk. Because he was sitting so far from the door, there was no way he could entirely hide his crying face as he made his procession across the entire classroom to the exit. Professor Binns just kept droning on, oblivious.

Harry, by the end of History, had seen his satisfaction collapse as guilt took over in its place. It was obvious to anyone that the rude remarks Zabini had made to Ernie and Harry didn't even come close to the suffering the boy was now enduring. He could see from the faces of his friends that they were all suffering from guilt as well, but he wondered if they might also be angry with him, since it had been his idea and since he had done almost every part of it. In hindsight, it had been a mistake to have all of them be part of the planning, only to do most of the work himself. Now, they could blame him for their own guilt. He thought that they didn't, yet, but he worried that they would soon.

Zabini did not come to lunch that afternoon, so they did not see him again until Defense class. By that time, he was clean and seemed to have regained much of his composure. He found a seat amidst the other Slytherins, who quietly taunted him for most of the class but also provided a buffer area from the worse actions of the Gryffindors. He sat there, his face never showing a trace of emotion, and endured the taunts of his Housemates, knowing that even if they were against him, by sitting in the middle of them, they defended him.

Harry could not help but admire the strength of resolve Zabini showed. After running out of History crying, he had apparently reached his absolute limit for humiliation and refused to be affected further.

And so it was a Defense class just like most other Defense classes. Harry, who had still never gotten the book on jinxes from Becca Albright that Sonny Albright thought she might have, was beginning to learn to bear the intense headache that his Defense teacher caused. Now, looking at Zabini's fortitude, Harry resolved his own, forcing his teeth to stop grinding, and doing his best to actually listen to the words the teacher was saying.

Unfortunately, he wasn't saying anything of even the slightest interest: he was telling the students that the best way to resolve any fight, against any creature or other wizard, was always to run away – then he spent the rest of the class listing a few anecdotes about when he, himself, had run away from various things.

Harry's notes at the end of the class period, such as they were, read in their entirety:

" _Run away wins the day_

 _Troll – ran away_

 _Vampire – ran away_

 _Aggressive skunk – ran away_

 _Angry dog – tried to run away, still got bit_

and that was it. The shocking part was that those few lines comprised all of the notes he had ever taken in Defense.

Still, Harry endured it, inspired as he was by Zabini's stony endurence of the torment that Harry himself had caused. What Zabini was going through was no doubt far, far worse than Harry's own personal problem with their professor, and Harry could see that Zabini was diligently paying attention to the teacher's every word in spite of his own problems – or perhaps because of them.

"Didn't Becca let you borrow her jinx book?" Sonny asked, confused.

"I haven't gotten around to asking her yet," Harry said.

"Oh, she's really nice mate. Just ask her. You still have that note I gave you?"

"Oh, I know she's nice. We talked about a few things actually," Harry said. "I just keep forgetting to ask about the book. Pretty funny, isn't it?"

Sonny shrugged, looking at Harry strangely. "Sure, mate," he said unsurely. "What are you and my sister talking about?"

"This and that," Harry said. "She's hilarious."

Sonny seemed really quite taken aback by this whole turn of events. "So you're friends with her? Why not ask for the book?"

Harry frowned, confused himself. "I might," he said. "But I should probably just learn to deal with Quirrell."

Sonny nodded in realization. "Ah," he said. "Taking the high road. Okay."

Harry laughed – something that didn't cause any interruption in the class, since people frequently chatted about other things in Defense – and said, "Not really. I'm just thinking it's probably good for me, on some level, to learn to ignore him myself rather than use a jinx."

Sonny laughed and shook his head. "Right," he said. "You know, it's not like any of this crap he's saying is going to be on our final exams. Can you imagine what the test would look like? Multiple choice where all the answers are 'run away,' and an essay portion: compare and contrast running away in a line versus running away in a zig-zag." Harry, Sonny and all of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws near enough to hear this laughed at the absurdity of such an exam. "He also never assigns any homework, or has any quizzes, it looks like. So you might as well ignore him."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "You're probably right. But what if maybe this is good stuff, and I should listen to every word? I mean, what if I get into a really messy situation, and I didn't learn anything in Cowardice Against the Dark Arts class? I'll probably try doing something foolish like standing my ground and overcoming my enemies, rather than run away like I should do."

"That could be the practical exam," Sonny said. "They wheel out some dangerous creature, and grade you on how fast you drop your wand and bolt."

"Extra points for screaming and crying," Harry added.

"Top marks if you go hide in a closet after," Sonny said.

"Special commendation for fainting once you're safely locked in the closet."

"Order of Merlin if you panic so much your heart stops and you just drop dead."

"Be made Grand Sorcerer if you manage to shit yourself on the way to the afterlife."

"Supreme Mugwump if you're afraid of the afterlife, too, and come back and spend the rest of eternity as a ghost with shit in your pants," Sonny said.

Harry just grinned. "You win," he said.

"You know," Terry said. "That combination of grim and nasty is really something special."

"Thank you," Sonny said. "I learned from the best, after all."

Harry thought it was too bad that Sonny and Terry were Ravenclaws and not Hufflepuffs. They really were fun guys. He thought it might be rude to say that, though. Instead he said, "That prank on Zabini this morning was pretty messed up, right?"

"I thought it was brilliant," Terry said without a second's delay.

Sonny nodded. "That prick deserved it." He shot a furtive look at Lisa Turpin, then added in an undertone, "He said something pretty messed up to her the other day. I was going to curse him myself. I still might."

That's right, Harry remembered, feeling the guilt that weighted on him diminish a bit. Zabini _was_ a prick, and he _did_ deserve it. Harry could only imagine what kind of things Zabini had said to poor Lisa Turpin – Harry could only imagine who else Zabini hurt or would have hurt. Moreover, he realized pragmatically, the fact that Zabini was nasty to so many people would only help the Hufflepuffs avoid being detected as the culprits.

Harry, though, didn't voice these thoughts. Having put himself in the position of being the one to suggest that it was messed up, he was already in for a knut and couldn't just change his tune at the drop of a hat. So he said, "I still think it was extreme, though."

"Not hardly," Sonny said. "I think I _will_ curse the bastard."

Terry nodded and said, "Maybe we can even get him to go back to France. Nobody would miss him. Even the other Slytherins hate the creep."

Sure enough, even as they were discussing Zabini, up near the front of the classroom Theodore Nott and Rachel Roadsley of Slytherin were harrassing him.

"I guess you have a point," Harry admitted.

"Look, he's not a pariah because he's so sweet, is he?" Sonny said somewhat darkly. He reminded Harry, just then, very strongly of Becca in her darker moments. "In a week he went from just another face to the most hated person in our year – he did that himself, by his actions. So fuck him."

Terry nodded, staring at the back of Zabini's head contemptuously.

Even Kevin Entwhistle, who was sitting nearby, threw in his own penny's worth, saying, "He's either going to get his act together or he's in for a pretty bad time here." Kevin wasn't looking at Zabini, but at Lisa Turpin, who was sitting nearby and pretending not to hear them.

"Thanks, Kevin, for your imput," Terry said, somehow both sarcastic and also genuine.

Kevin just nodded and kept staring at Lisa. Terry rolled his eyes. Sonny whispered to Harry, "Kevin thinks he's Lisa's guardian angel or something. So naturally..."

"Right," Harry said. He didn't know if Kevin was sweet or delusional or what – he decided it didn't really affect him, since he didn't know Kevin or Lisa yet, and this wasn't exactly a good time to get to know them.

Harry was sitting right between the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs, who were being rather conspicuously silent on the matter, he thought. "What do you think, Ern?" he asked, picking Ernie because he thought that out of the lot of them, Ernie was the one most likely to play along convincingly.

"What?" Ernie asked, surprised, before realizing what Harry needed from him. "Well, I agree with Albright," he said. "Zabini can swim back to France the long way for all I care. What happened to him this morning was kind of messed up, I guess, but then again Zabini's a pretty messed up guy."

Susan grasped the fact that they were making a show about their own speculation, and added her own bit. "I just wonder how they did it," she said. "I've never heard of a spell like that."

Hermione, too, decided to play her part, despite the internal conflict Harry knew she was feeling. "It must be some kind of charm," she speculated. "Only charms make people do things against their will, usually."

"It must have been an older student, then," Susan said. "There aren't many students that could do a Compulsion Charm like that."

The Hufflepuffs seemed to, and the Ravenclaws actually did, think over the problem of how the cursing of Zabini was pulled off right in the Great Hall, under all the professors' noses. A nosy Gryffindor girl put in her own thoughts: "Why don't we ask the professor?" she said.

The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, plus all of the Gryffindors, looked at her in question. Hermione, confused, said, "Which professor?"

By now there was little pretense of anyone, even the studious Ravenclaws, even the hard-working Hufflepuffs – even _Hermione_ – listening to their Defense professor. The only student in the entire class that wasn't actively discussing Zabini's cursing was Zabini himself, who continued to sit there stonily, appearing to completely ignore the Slytherins still taunting him, and the other students speculating about him. In such a context, it was somewhat understandable that Hermione did not understand who the Gryffindor girl was referring to. But she said, "Well, Professor Quirrell, I mean."

Everyone looked between her and the professor, who stood there, seemingly startled and possibly afraid of the fact that a whole classroom of students was actively paying attention to him suddenly, as though such a thing had rarely if ever occurred before.

The girl huffed. Then she stood up and raised her hand and said, "Professor!"

Professor Quirrell stared at her. Harry, staring at Quirrell, felt the migraine that had ebbed away while he talked to the Ravenclaws suddenly return full-force – apparently he hated the man so thoroughly that even just looking intently at him could trigger it.

Professor Quirrell said, "Y-y-y – ... Yes? Miss B-br-b-b-b-br –"

"Professor," the girl said, speaking over him. "I was wondering, how would you defend yourself against an attack like what happened to Zabini at breakfast?"

Professor Quirrell looked at Zabini for a moment, then looked back at the girl. Then he looked back at Zabini. "Mr. Zabini," he said. "D-do you rem-rem-remem-remember anything about your at-t-t-t-at-a-attack?"

Zabini said, in a surprisingly clear voice, "No, Professor. I was in some kind of trance at the time."

Professor Quirrell nodded, stroking his chin pensively with his right hand even as his left hand fidgeted nervously, index finger picking at thumb. "W-w-w-well," Professor Quirrell said. "Did you go to the hospital w-w-w-w –"

"No," Zabini said. "However, Professor Snape found a Babbling Beverage in my system. But he said that that did not explain it fully."

Professor Quirrell nodded – eye twitching – as if expecting that. "In that c-c-case, it s-s-seems you w-w-were perhaps under a Comp-p-p-pulsion, as w-w-w-well?"

Zabini just stared. He did not know.

"In a case like th-th-th-this one, where y-y-y-you are affected by b-b-b-both a p-p-p-potion and a ch-ch-charm," their teacher said, "The b-b-b-best thing to d-d-d-do would be to r-r-r-r-r-r-r-run away."

For several seconds, the classroom was completely silent. Then everyone seemed to explode all at once, exclaiming, "But he _did_ run away!" or "He was already hit! How could he run!" or "What kind of defense is that?" or just simply "You're barking mad!"

After several seconds, it became clear to Professor Quirrell that the students were not going to settle down any time soon. The nervous wreck slowly moved around behind his desk protectively and said one of the first non-stuttering utterances any of them had ever heard from him, which was, "Class dismissed!"

It was only ten minutes early – if not for the strange scene, few would have even noticed that they were being let out early. As it was, though, it proved to be quite the conversation starter for the students as they filed out. Especially for Harry Potter, who turned to Susan and said, "Your aunt is big in the Ministry, right?"

"Well, yes," she said. "Why?"

"I wonder what it would take to get a teacher sacked."

Somebody clasped Harry's shoulder. Draco said, "I couldn't help but overhear. You know, that might be something worth looking into. My father is a member of the Board of Governors. Would you mind, Harry, if I sent off a letter saying that you'd like to lodge a formal complaint?"

Harry glanced at Susan. Her face was the face of someone shrugging without the use of their shoulders, both her head and her brows slightly tipped. "I wonder who else would like to sign a petition?" Harry asked said broadly. And it seemed that there was not a single voice in opposition to trying to get their Defense professor sacked, and many vocal expressions in favor.

"I, for one, think he's an absolute disaster," Ernie opinined in the arrogant tone he sometimes took when addressing a number of people.

"He's the worst teacher we have – and there are some pretty bad ones!" Kevin Entwhistle exclaimed.

"He gives me the creeps," the Gryffindor girl who had spoken up opined.

Harry gave Draco an easy, friendly smile. "Seems like there might be a few other people who'd be interested in lodging a complaint," he said. "But tell your father that I'm one of them."

By the time that dinner came around, two hours or so later, Draco and the other Slytherins had drafted up petitions. But Draco, who thought that it would be better to make it a House-neutral thing, rather than a Slytherin thing, pulled Harry into the process of getting them signed. The two boys, joined by the Gryffindor girl, whose name was Lavender Brown, and Kevin Entwhistle of Ravenclaw, stood by the entrance to the Great Hall with their petitions, saying things like, "Are you ready for this school to take Defense seriously?" and "If you'd rather have a flobberworm at your back in a fight than Professor Quirrell, sign here." Many students couldn't be bothered signing, of course, but by the end of the dinner rush, when the four sat down to have their own meals, they had collected over one hundred signatures, and Professor Quirrell could be seen tugging nervously at his shirt collar. Professor McGonagall asked them what they were getting up to, of course, but Harry took the lead in explaining that they were simply trying to ensure that the quality of education at Hogwarts continued to lead the nation, and she allowed them to continue.

That night in the Hufflepuff Common Room, Harry traded enchanting books with Cerie – Susan and Hermione having traded that morning – and whiled his evening away pouring over it.

The next morning in Charms class, Draco informed Harry that Professor Snape had no love in his heart at all for Professor Quirrell (a statement which Harry found rather odd, since he had not been aware that Professor Snape had any love in his heart for anyone at all) and had been more than happy to escort Draco through his office floo to the Malfoy Manor, just to deliver the petitions (the first names on which were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy) to Draco's father personally. According to Draco's brief summary of the events of that evening, both his father and Professor Snape were very interested in pursuing the sacking of the Defense professor – Lucius Malfoy because he rarely passed up an opportunity to stick it to Dumbledore, and Severus Snape because he fancied the job himself.

Harry could not deny that, based on his impressions of the potionsmaster so far, the man would likely make a much more _engaging_ instructor, at the very least, than Professor Quirrell. Harry thought it very likely that the man would even teach them a few spells – which Quirrell had stated he would not do until year three. Professor Snape's rather nasty behavior might even translate much better in a Defense classroom than a Potions classroom, he thought. So, while the matter of who would replace Professor Snape as Hogwarts' Potions instructor remained an open question, Harry believed that on the balance the move would be good for the entire school.

It would not, however, happen overnight. While Draco did not have the details to divulge, Harry was given to understand by his Slytherin friend that the process for having someone sacked at Hogwarts was not something that had been done often. There was no standard procedure for it, and it was hard to say at the outset what strings would need to be pulled. Harry just let Draco know that if there was anything he could do to help, he would be more than willing to oblige.

Meanwhile, the humiliation of Zabini continued without interruption, even as the school at large became interested in the new Quirrell affair. The boy was rarely seen wandering the halls of the castle, but when he was it was always alone. For the Gryffindor boys who seemed to have latched onto the process if his humiliation, Zabini, being the only Slytherin who couldn't rely on his brethren for support, apparently presented a tempting target for their appetites. So after Charms and on the way to Transfiguration, Harry and many others could not help but overhear the Gryffindors bragging about how they had found him alone on the way to breakfast and had pelted him with dungbombs and insults. That same Zabini walked behind the general throng of the first years, silent and passive, even as the boys regalled their misdeeds.

The Puffs had never expected the Fendors carry on like this. While Harry had been warned by Becca and other Hufflepuff upperclassmen that the lions had a viscious streak about them, a casual willingness to do harm, he had not expected them to prey on the same target that he himself had weakened and exposed, and it upset him. It upset, it turned out, many of the Hufflepuffs. When Hermione finally exploded, berating the cruelty of the boys, Harry found that he was in agreement with her, despite the fact that it was a situation that he himself had engineered.

So, when they were on the fourth floor, near enough to see the door to the Transfiguration classroom, and Hermione finally turned to them and snapped, "Enough is enough!" Harry found himself nodding firmly in agreement.

"Oh, we're just having a spot of fun," Seamus Finnegan said. He, Harry remembered, was the boy who Hermione had turned to help in Charms after putting Ronald in his place on Wednesday.

"Don't you think he's suffered enough?" Hermione repeated.

"What do you care?" Weasley said. "He's nothing but a slimey snake."

"First of all," Harry said, coming to stand beside Hermione – the two of them facing the three boys in what could only be called a stand-off, the rest of first year standing in a circle around them, including a keenly-observing Zabini. "Snakes are not slimey. Haven't you ever handled a snake?"

Ronald Weasley just stared blankly at him. Hermione said, "Really, is that the first point?"

Harry said, "Erm – no. First of all, nobody deserves to be picked on just because of what House they happened to be sorted into."

"That's right!" Hermione said.

"Secondly – Zabini is a right git, and probably the foulest person in first year, with only one possible exception – namely, –"

"Harry!"

"Er – sorry. Secondly. Let's see. Secondly, Hermione's right. Zabini has suffered enough. So just let him be, all right?"

Seamus and the other boy actually looked rather agreeable about that idea – the second boy even looked rather chagrined, apparently feeling the shame of having been called out for doing something wrong. Ronald Weasley, on the other hand, looked angry. He glared and grit his teeth, his face turning redder and redder by the second. Finally he reached his critical mass and exploded. "Where do you get off!" he yelled. "How dare you tell me what to do, you damn duffer!"

"Duffer?" Harry repeated, unfamiliar with the term.

"It means someone who's useless," Hermione supplied. "A bit ironic, considering who said it."

"I've found that people's go-to insult is often their own biggest insecurity," Harry said. "I think I read that somewhere."

Harry and Hermione had turned to walk away, but Ron wasn't done yet. "Don't you walk away from me!" he yelled – and, as Harry turned back around, he had a flashback to when Ron had erupted into violence against Draco on the train, except instead of having Crabbe and Goyle at his back, Ron now had Seamus and the other Gryffindor boy. They reacted to stop him, but they were too slow, as unprepared for his sudden lunge of violence as anyone else. Ron's fist collided with Harry's jaw with enough force to knock him to the ground, where he lay, holding the spot, more stunned than actually in pain.

"You punched me!" Harry exclaimed.

His words seemed to transform Ron's rage into shock – the boy looked down at his own hand, stunned, apparently as amazed by his own actions as anyone there. Seamus and the other boy finally reacted, grabbing Ron's arms to restrain him, although it was evident that Ron hadn't intended to do anything else.

"What is the meaning of this!" – Professor McGonagall appeared in the corridor. They had been only forty feet or so away from her classroom, and through the open door she had of course been alerted as soon as Ron started yelling. Now she marched over furiously.

"He's done it _again_!" Draco exclaimed. There was, it could not be denied, a definite edge of glee in his voice even as he, along with Ernie, helped Harry to stand. "He's punched Harry Potter in the face!"

 _At least there's a silver lining to all of this_ , Harry found himself thinking. He wasn't bleeding, but he could tell that he would have a rather ugly bruise. He found himself both amused by Draco's excitement and ruefully joining in on it himself to a degree. He had not forgotten how Ron had insulted Hermione on Wednesday.

"You lot, remain here," she said, indicating Ron, Harry, Hermione, Draco, Ernie, Seamus and the other Gryffindor boy. Harry was amazed at how quickly she had identified everyone even remotely involved. "Everyone else, into the classroom!" Some left grudingly, some seemed more than happy to scurry away into the classroom. Zabini was one the last to go inside, and he paused for a moment before entering, giving Harry the most peculiar look. Once they were all inside, Professor McGonagall snapped the door shut with a flick of her wand. Apparently, disciplinary action takes precedence over classes, because she was dealing with this situation immediately.

"Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said wearily. She waited a moment, seeing if he would speak, and then sharply demanded, "Explain!"

"Professor –" he stammered. "I didn't mean to! I don't know what happened!"

"You _punched_ him!" Hermione exclaimed. "What do you mean you didn't _mean_ to?"

"Indeed," the professor said pointedly, indicating somehow with that single word both that Ron's explanation was insufficient and that Hermione should be silent for now.

"Well," Ron said. It seemed to be a real struggle for him – he did not, Harry realized, understand his own actions. As he continued to hem and haw, the others – including the other Gryffindors – regarded him with increasing incredulity. "Well. I mean … I was just so _mad_ at him. I was just – I really didn't _mean_ to hit him. I mean, it just sort of – I'm really sorry!"

"Are you apologizing to _me_ , Mr. Weasley?" Professor McGonagall asked, seemingly astonished at her young charge.

If she was surprised before, she was absolutely amazed when he said, "Yes. I'm sorry."

Professor McGonagall closed her eyes and shook her head. Then she looked around at the group, and finally settled on Harry. "Mr. Potter, please tell me something that makes sense."

"I'll try, Professor," Harry said. "Although I don't really understand myself. I was telling these three boys to stop harassing Zabini. I think these two kind of saw what I was trying to say. But Weasley just got all … enraged, I guess would be the word. He called me a duffer, whatever that means, and when I was walking away he suddenly just punched me. I was really surprised."

"He's dangerous, Professor," Draco said. "He tried to punch me on the Hogwarts Express, too."

"Yes," Professor McGonagall said. "And he's still serving detention for it. But this is twice in barely a week, now... Never, in all my years! Mr. Weasley, let me ask you, what do you think I should do with you?"

Ron stared. "I – I dunno," he said. "More House Points and detentions, I suppose."

This only made Professor McGonagall's frown deepen. "You would suggest I do more of the same," she repeated. "Yet clearly it hasn't worked so far. No, Mr. Weasley … I'm afraid that your pattern of violence is only going to continue."

"Professor!" Ron blurted. He seemed to suddenly realize that he was in _serious_ trouble. "Please, give me a chance."

Professor McGonagall actually glanced at Harry, as if she wanted to know what punishment he thought Ron deserved. Harry, to his own amazement, for reasons that he would not himself understand for a very long time, found himself saying, "Maybe he deserves another chance."

Hermione looked stunned and pleased. Draco and Ernie looked stunned and horrified. Ronald Weasley looked stunned and grateful. The two Gryffindor boys just looked stunned. Professor McGonagall's frown softened by several measures, and she said after a while, "Perhaps. Mr. Weasley, we will discuss this further after dinner. Be in my office at 8:15 sharp. For now, it's time for class."

Transfiguration passed surprisingly smoothly. Ronald Weasley was thoroughly beaten down, poking with even more futility than usual at the necktie he was meant to be turning into a bowtie, and the other students were now disinclined to torment Zabini – at least not with Professor McGonagall, and Zabini's apparent new supporter in Harry Potter, watching. Similarly, the Hufflepuffs were all over-eager to discuss the events that had happened in the hall, and, that being an unsafe topic, there was little else they were inclined to chat about during that class. Hermione, however, did keep regarding Harry with an expression that he could only classify as pride.

At the same time, Harry caught the Slytherins giving him some rather speculative glances of their own. Draco had stolen a chance to whisper to his closest friends, Parkinson, Goyle and Nott, what had happened, and they all seemed to be rather involved in their silent speculations as to his motives. Zabini, too, was regarding Harry strangely – although what Zabini was thinking was never easy to say.

Harry, himself, found the transfiguration of the day a distraction that lasted only mere moments, and soon had to ask himself what, exactly, he had been thinking. Why had he defended Zabini? Why had he spared Weasley?

It dawned on him, very gradually and in fits, that what he had done had not only exonerated him beyond question in the eyes of Zabini, but had also put both Zabini and Weasley in his debt. He was glad, at least, to realize that his actions were logical – he had feared, like Hermione believed, that they were simply gestures of mercy. While mercy sounded good in name, the act of letting one's enemies continue to run amok was appalling to Harry, so it actually reassured him to realize that his actions had been pragmatic. By taking pity on and helping his enemies, he may have actually converted them into supporters, which was a much better result than he could hope for with any actions against them.

Even so, there was something he felt that he was missing. It was only after class, when Professor McGonagall held him back, that he realized – yes, the other day she had questioned him. Now, she had all of the right answers. She thought he was a damn saint.

"Professor?" he said as he approached the desk.

Professor McGonagall smiled softly at him. It was not a customary expression for her face, but not an entirely unnatural one. "Tea, Mr. Potter?"

Harry smiled broadly at her. "Is it customary for you, to take tea in your classroom?" he asked. He was astonished to hear himself teasing her, but with what had happened in the hallway earlier, and with the soft way she was looking at her now, it seemed like a natural progression.

Professor McGonagall laughed. "No, perhaps not. Well. Come into my office, then."

To Harry's continuing amazement, the professor led him through the door behind her desk. Her office itself had three doors: one to the classroom, one to the hall, and one, he assumed, that led to her personal chambers. It was sparsely, but very carefully decorated. Each of the few ornaments and trinkets and decorations he spotted nearly radiated significance – they were not random things strewn about casually. They were important awards, they were copies of her favorite students' NEWT theses, they were photographs of her family who, by how young his professor looked, Harry could guess must now all be dead.

Her office had a small desk with a large chair – but that was against one wall, comfortably under, but not quite centered under, the window. Near the middle of the room, although not quite in the center, there was a small table with four large chairs. Her office, Harry realized, doubled as a parlor. Its purpose, he theorized, was that it could be used to give her the excuse for never letting others into her apartment chambers.

She bid him to take a seat at the table and then so did she, and somehow in that moment a house-elf appeared, apparently sensing that a tea-needing situation had arisen, and began to set the table for two, this time with biscuits and what Professor McGonagall somehow knew was a not-overbearing oolong.

After they had settled in, and Professor McGonagall had Harry munching on a biscuit that he found quite good, she said, "I was very impressed with maturity you displayed earlier, Mr. Potter, in suggesting to give Mr. Weasley another chance."

Harry allowed himself to gather his thoughts, nibbling on the sugared part of the biscuit, before replying. He said, "It was what anyone would have done, Professor. Weasley …" he made something of a show of pausing. He scratched his nose thoughtfully with his thumb. He said, "Weasley really doesn't know what he's doing. So, he should be given the chance to learn."

Professor McGonagall frowned slightly, but she nodded. "I would like to disagree with your assessment of Mr. Weasley, but you've only paraphrased the boy's own words. I truly hope that he does not waste the opportunity he's been granted."

"Professor," Harry said slowly. "It seemed to me, after you asked Weasley what he thought his punishment should be … it seemed like you asked me, too, when you looked at me. I could have been imagining it."

"You really are quite the handful, aren't you, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked with a tight smile that Harry believed to be an attempt to contain an outright grin. "I'm afraid that there is no point in denying it – I did look to you for your opinion. It was grossly unprofessional on my part. However, it seems that it was not in error. Despite the injury done to you, you looked out for the one who had injured you. It was a gesture of mercy and of altruism that few people – certainly, few first years – would be capable of."

While that was true, it was not the whole truth. Harry did not feel any guilt – he had done something that made him look good in everyone's eyes (with the possible exceptions of Draco and Ernie), and that could be seen as inherently deceptive. But he had done so by doing something that legitimately _was_ good. If his motivation had been to be seen doing something good, and in order to do it he had done something good, then he was willing to forgive himself for the deceit of pretending that the action, rather than having been seen doing the action, was the motivating thing.

Nevertheless, the ethics made his head spin.

He resolved to not dwell on ethical matters overly in the future.

"Professor, you said that you could tell me something of my father," Harry said. It sounded, to his own ears, like an abrupt change in subject – by Professor McGonagall's face, she heard it as a sudden blurting out of a question that had been bothering him.

Professor McGonagall smiled sadly and looked at him with her head slightly tilted for a moment. Harry could not help but notice that, when you looked very closely, there were several strands of hair that escaped her bun and flitted wildly in random directions about her head. She had bushy hair, like Hermione, he realized.

"I was a very close friend of Effie – Euphemia, your grandmother – so I first met your father when he was only a baby," Professor McGonagall said. "He was a joyous, willful child. He was always causing trouble, even as a toddler – nothing horrible, mind you, but mischievous. He was very bright, too. Even before he was speaking, he had a sharp look about his eyes, and at the dining table he would always look intently at whoever was speaking. You could tell that his little mind was always at work. You can imagine, giving these two qualities – incredible intelligence and the heart of a trickster – that I was both tremendously pleased and, I must admit, a touch apprehensive, about his sorting into my Gryffindor House."

She paused for a while, sipping her tea, looking out the window. "It was inevitable, given his qualities, that he soon became something of a leader among his Housemates. Not unlike yourself, Mr. Potter, he saw the good in everybody, and, more importantly, brought the good out of people who could not always see it in themselves."

If that were really true, Harry realized, then his father James was very different from him. While Harry certainly was nice to everyone – while they were looking – he did _not_ see the good in everyone, unless you counted their usefulness as their 'good.' Really, he only saw the good in good people. But Harry was also of course aware that how Professor McGonagall perceived him was how he worked to be perceived – and he wondered, then, if that perception could be attained by someone who really _did_ see everyone's good, or if, on the other hand, James Potter had engineered things carefully to make it seem that he saw things that way, as Harry did every day.

"He would have made a fine Hufflepuff," Professor McGonagall added after a very long pause. "As, I think, you would have made a fine Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you," Harry said. Although he did not have a particularly high opinion of Gryffindors, his experience was very limited, and it was obviously a great compliment coming from the Head of that House.

Professor McGonagall let out a sigh that spoke not just of the tiredness of the day, but of the tiredness of her age, and lapsed into just staring out the window. Harry decided to just let her be and patiently waited, pretending not to be watching her. Finally, after a few straight minutes of this silence, Professor McGonagall seemed to suddenly come out of her reverie. She said, "I was just thinking about your parents' wedding, Mr. Potter, and it occurred to me that I have a picture you might like to have. Could you wait a moment?"

"Yes – of course – thank you –" Harry had never seen the likeness of his parents, who, out of respect, were not even pictured in history books. He found himself, despite himself, extremely eager to see their likeness.

Professor McGonagall retreated into the third door, which, as Harry had suspected, seemed to lead to her quarters. After only a very short time, she returned with a framed photograph, which she handed over to him silently with moist eyes.

They were so very young, and so tremendously happy. Harry could not help but think that his father looked very much like himself, but more handsome and refined. He knew, from what people had said, that his mother's eyes resembled his own, but with the way she squinted as she laughed in the photograph, you could not tell. They were surrounded by a great number of people, all of whom had expressions of honest and absolute joy. Even Professor McGonagall, who Harry spotted at the edge of the frame, was laughing freely in a way he had never seen her do in life.

"Professor –"

"Yes, Mr. Potter. Of course you can keep it."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said. "But I was going to ask, would you sign this petition?"

Unfortunately, it wasn't to be – nor, of course, had Harry had any expectation that she would sign. It was at least mostly a joke – although it really would have been a coup if she _had_ signed. What he did elicit was a chorus of laughter from the old professor who had known his grandmother. Shaking her head, she shooed him off to lunch.

"You're late – but I suppose you were held back," Hannah said as he joined his friends at the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall.

"Harry," Ernie said with an edge of seriousness – and it seemed that everyone was looking at Harry intently, other than Megan who was looking at her sandwich thoughtfully. "What was that all about?"

Harry allowed himself a moment to gather his thoughts while he scooped some pasta salad onto his plate. He wondered what exactly he could say – it would be a great misstep to casually mention the prank at this point, of course, so it was impossible to discuss the matter candidly. Moreover, he did not want to ruin Hermione's good impression of his actions by disclosing the Machiavellian rationale behind them. Finally, he settled on saying something vaguely middle-groundish. "Well, I don't think Zabini or Weasley will be bothering us any more."

Ernie leaned back sharply as the realization struck him all at once. Susan, Harry noted, had the smile of one whose suspicions have been confirmed. Wayne and Justin looked like they were more confused than before. The others all sort of seemed to be trying to puzzle out Harry's words. Out of this remainder, it was Hermione who realized the implications first: "You've converted them through kindness," she said slowly. "They really can't hurt you anymore."

"I hope so," Harry said. "I don't want Zabini or Weasley to suffer. I just wanted them to know that messing with Puffs isn't a good idea. Now they know that, I hope. Since they've learned their lesson, I let them off the hook." He did not want to place too much emphasis on the fact that the boys were now indebted to him.

"It could backfire," Megan said quietly. "Zabini might be smart enough to realize. If he is, it'll just blow up in your face."

Harry had to stare at her for a moment. He hadn't realized that she, like Susan, had understood from the beginning – he certainly hadn't expected her to raise a point that he had entirely missed. As her words settled on him, Harry frowned. "I'll have to hope that, if Zabini does figure it out, he appreciates it instead of resents it."

"I don't get it," Wayne announced. "You had the chance to get Weasley kicked out, didn't you?" Neville, Justin and Cerie similarly seemed to be several steps behind, and were all nodding in agreement with Wayne.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said. "Hopefully, all of this is over now."

A man suddenly appeared at the entrance to the Great Hall – at a glance, Harry was almost certain that he knew who the man was. The Hall quieted as more and more students turned and noticed him there. After standing there somewhat dramatically, leaning lightly on his cane, the man strode purposefully down the center of the Great Hall and up to the staff table. Dumbledore, who had, it seemed, been oblivious to the man's entrance, suddenly turned and looked at him as he came to a stop directly across the table from the Headmaster. "Ah, Lucius. Good afternoon, good afternoon! To what do we owe the pleasure? Would you care for a nice slice of treacle tart?"

"Good afternoon, Headmaster," Lucius Malfoy said. "I've come to address some concerns that have been raised regarding by students, parents and faculty regarding the slipping quality of education here at Hogwarts."

"Come again, Lucius?" the Headmaster said.

"On behalf of the Board of Governors of Hogwarts, I will be sitting in to observe the performance of some of the more questionable teachers here over the next few days. I hope, Headmaster, that the Board will have your full cooperation."

"Oh?" the Headmaster said. "To what end, Lucius? Surely, only the Headmaster may appoint or terminate staff."

"For now, Headmaster. However, pending the results of my investigation, the Board will determine if any further actions are required, or if any school policies need to be adjusted."

"I see. Well, please, make yourself at home, Lucius."

Mr. Malfoy nodded slowly and only slightly, then slowly surveyed the faculty with narrowed, intimidating eyes. Harry, too, took the chance to see how the professors were reacting to the news: the groundskeeper looked absolutely enraged, while the caretaker looked giddy. Professor Snape, Harry noticed, had a gleam in his eye that was absolutely vindictive as he regarded Professor Quirrell, who sat a few places down from him. Professor Quirrell seemed to be having trouble breathing and was dripping sweat, but Harry thought his eyes may have shined with something like anger. Professor McGonagall seemed rather torn: she, too, seemed unsatisfied with Professor Quirrell, but she also did not seem to appreciate Mr. Malfoy's drastic, theatrical actions. Professors Flitwick and Sprout seemed more bewildered than anything, although they, too, were glancing without pleasure at Professor Quirrell. Professor Sinistra, Harry noted with amusement, was eating her lunch as casually as had it not been interrupted and seemed to be enjoying the show.

"Well," Ernie summarized as Mr. Malfoy turned and strode out of the Great Hall, "This could be interesting."

In Potions, their last class of the day, Professor Snape was uncommonly happy, and even told Neville that he had done an "adequate job" of chopping Persian phosphorescent seaweed.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

* * *

Some notes:

Well, the first week of Hogwarts is done, and it only took a hundred thousand words to get here! xD It's been a pretty fun week, I think, and we got a lot done. Most of the main OC's are introduced and a lot of different plots are underway. Now that things are pretty much all wound up and ready to tick away, the pacing of this story is about to go up a gear.

Since there are so many OC's, I thought it might be helpful to make a little summary of who's who. So, who's who? I'll tell you who!

The **Hufflepuffs** , by age:

 **First Years:**

Cerie Runcorn (JKR mentions a Runcorn with no first name)

Megan Jones (JKR mentions someone like this somewhere)

Wayne Hopkins (traces of his existence have been reported for years)

(No **second year** Hufflepuffs have appeared yet. Weird.)

 **Third years:**

Haleigh Copperbell

Francis "Frankie" Wooten

Eric Riley

 **Fourth years:**

Samantha Fleck

Becca Albright (Sonny Albright's big sis)

Tosha Timely

Phyllis Cleese

Morgan Norwitch

Sharon Stiffly

Leonard Dumpkin

Maxwell Prendergast

Joshua "Shoe" Norquist

Peter Tromlin

 **Fifth years:**

Tabby Venett (Prefect)

Stuart Johnson

Neil Northbrate (Prefect)

Patrick Mayhew (Keeper)

 **Sixth years:**

Joshua Mallory (Chaser, Captain)

Michael Sparrow

Algernon Silvestris (Prefect)

(no **seventh year** Hufflepuffs are mentioned yet)

 **TONKS GRADUATED LAST YEAR. SORRY FOLKS**

Other students:

 **Ravenclaws:**

Lisa Turpin (JKR mentions someone like this somewhere)

Sophie Roper (JKR mentions someone like this somewhere)

Cerie Runcorn's older sister

Sonny Albright (Harry's year, friends with Terry, brother of Becca)

Kevin Entwhistle (JKR mentions someone like this somewhere)

 **Slytherins:**

(There are a few OC Slytherins in Harry's year, but they haven't done anything to get Harry's attention yet.)

 **Gryffindors:**

(Same situation as Slytherin.)

 **Other folks:**

Patrick Hamilton from IBM

Bill Gates (any resemblance to any real person is _**totally an accident**_ )

Ravi Mishra from Microsoft and his wife

Oswald Fitzgerald-Fitzpatrick – Flourish and Blott's employee

Snape-hating apothecary employee

Kind but judgmental clothier employee

Somewhat pushy but helpful Quality Quidditch employee

Creepy human Gringotts employee

Nobgnawer the goblin

Unnamed goblins

Unnamed house-elves

Hannah's dad

Justin's parents, brothers

Ernie's great uncle

Cerie's father, three older brothers and older sister

Megan's parents

Lisa Turpin's grandparents (the Skidborns)


	10. Chapter 10

The Tinkerer

Chapter 10

On Wednesday morning, Harry opened his eyes and was absolutely and completely awake. The clock on the wall, he noted with some irritation, said that it was still ten to five. Still, he was wide awake, so like he often did, he crept as stealthily as he could out of his bed and into the bathroom despite the early hour.

There was a good reason he couldn't sleep: today was finally the day of Quidditch try outs.

After showering and brushing his teeth, Harry fully unpacked his broomstick from the tin box it was packaged in for the very first time. Not wanting to make the waiting any worse, he had refrained from doing so since he had bought the broom on Saturday morning – now, though, it was time.

Harry set himself up on the floor of the first year boys' suite and set the box in front of him. Slowly, both so as to make as little noise as possible and so as to extend the moment, he opened the box and saw the broomstick, which he had not looked at since first glancing at it in the shop.

It was burgundy red, with black twigs wrapped in elegantly threaded white leather. Its curves were understated and graceful. Near the tip of the broom was boldly printed in monumental Roman type: COMET 270-C.

He reached into the box, and lifted it out. It was hefty but not heavy. It was perfectly balanced. Its lacquer was designed to provide grip without getting sticky. It had gentle ridges where you held it with your hands, and it had little silver stirrups in the back to help the rider really lean into it or stand over it as required.

"Brilliant broom, Harry," Ernie said. Harry had not even heard him get out of bed, but now the boy was sitting down next to him on the floor.

"Thanks," Harry said. "Thanks for helping me get it."

Ernie flashed him a sleepy grin. Then he lifted the owner's manual and started flipping through it. "Wow," he said. "Top speed of 165 miles per hour. Naught to 150 in ten seconds. That puts my Cleansweep Seven to shame. It does 150 but it's only rated at naught to 90 in ten seconds."

Harry didn't really have a lot to say on that. He would know, soon enough, if it was better than a Cleansweep for Seeker, since he'd been on a Cleansweep before. What he theorized was that, since he tended to calculate the trajectory of the object he was trying to catch before shooting off in a straight line to where he expected it to be, the better acceleration and braking would be key. However, that was catching galleons and regular balls. He did not know if it would transfer over to catching Snitches as well, whose trajectory might be harder to anticipate.

If he wasn't happy with it, his receipt said that he could trade it in if it wasn't damaged. Of course, if it didn't perform how he needed it to, it would be too late – someone else would be Seeker.

It was not the first time these thoughts had run through his head. It was a gamble, and he knew it, to take a risk on a Comet when he already knew how Cleansweeps performed. He could only hope that it paid off.

"Are you going to just stare at it all morning?" Ernie asked.

"Maybe," Harry said. He didn't really feel like doing anything else.

"Come on, get up," Ernie said, yanking Harry up by the arm. But then Ernie just clasped his shoulder and gave him a very intense look. Finally, he said, "You've got this, Harry."

Harry nodded resolutely. Ernie was right. He was good, and besides, he couldn't fail. It would be a disaster if he failed.

Harry did his best to read his enchanting book, but he ended up just reading the parts about enchantments that are used on brooms. He did his best to focus in Herbology class, but in the end he found himself wondering if the twigs on a broom are from a magical plant or a regular one. He tried to take notes in History, but he ended up sitting there next to Susan, who was doodling birds, Harry doodling broomsticks on his own parchment.

In Defense class, though, he forgot about Quidditch.

Lucius Malfoy strode into the classroom five minutes or so after the lesson had begun. Professor Quirrell, who had been acting unusually anxious already, fumbled with the parchments he was holding as Mr. Malfoy entered, spilling them all over the floor. "Oh, h-h-h-hello again, M-m-m-m-mister M-m-m-m –"

"Good afternoon, Professor," Mr. Malfoy said. He stood there, staring the cowardly man down for a while, his nose turned up, an expression that Harry thought was a rather elegant version of a sneer marking his face. After regarding the almost wimpering man for a moment more, he said, "I do hope you have taken my advice from this morning to heart, Professor. Please, do carry on – I'll just be here." He walked over to a corner of the room where there was a chair, but he just stood there, staring at Professor Quirrell.

"Of c-c-c-c … Yes," Professor Quirrell said.

Aside from the lurking figure of Mr. Malfoy, who other than turning his eyes seemed to be almost as still as a statue, the class proceeded relatively normally – which is to say, migraine-inducingly – for the first few minutes. However, it soon became apparent to all of the students that the lecture Professor Quirrell was delivering now was directly at odds with the one he had delivered on Monday.

Professor Quirrell said, "N-n-n-now, there are t-t-t-times when you m-m-m-may be confronted with a dark wizard or w-w-w-witch. The thing to d-d-d-do is to rem-em-em-remember that a d-d-d-dark wizard without a w-w-w-wand –" and here Professor Quirrell broke off and glanced over at Mr. Malfoy, as if to ask if he was doing it right this time, but Mr. Malfoy made no move to confirm or deny. "A d-d-dark wizard without a w-w-w-wand is no threat t-t-t-to you. So, the th-th-thing – the best th-th-thing to d-d-d-do, is to t-t-t-try to disarm them."

Lavender Brown stood up with her hand raised and, without being called on, said, "Professor, on Monday you told us that we should run away from dark wizards."

Their teacher pursed his lips and glared at her even while his hands fidgeted and his cheek twitched. Harry wondered if the man actually had nerve damage, and, if so, why it hadn't been treated. "If y-y-y-you are unable to disarm them, then yes, you shoud r-r-r-run away," he clarified.

Harry decided to help Lavender out a bit. He raised his hand and said, "At what point, Professor, should we determine that we are unable to disarm them and turn and run away? It seems to me that provoking a dark wizard by attempting to disarm them, failing, and then turning to run, is about the surest way to get yourself killed by them."

Professor Quirrell seemed stumped for a moment. Finally, he said, "Y-y-y-you should ass-ass-ass –" students were giggling at this "– ass-ass-assess the situation, and m-m-m-make the c-c-call whether or n-n-n-not you will be able to disarm them b-b-b-before engaging," he stated.

"Professor, I do not know a spell to use to disarm someone," Sonny Albright said. "So in my case, I should just run away?"

Professor Quirrell stared at Sonny rather darkly. Finally, he admitted, "It is imp-p-p-perative to l-l-l-learn the Disarming Ch-ch-charm."

"But Professor," Harry said. "You told me we won't be learning any spells until third year."

Professor Quirrell's sharp glare seemed, somehow, to make Harry's ongoing migraine intensify tenfold suddenly, and he found himself holding his head in pain even as he struggled to pay attention.

Their teacher said, "Th-th-that is b-b-because I d-d-do not want to encourage anyone under th-th-th-third year to at-t-t-t-t-tempt to fight a d-d-dark wizard."

"To clarify," Kevin Entwhistle said, "You believe that first and second years should run away, while third years and above should assess whether or not they are a match for the fully-grown dark wizard, and, in the case that they believe they are, they should then try to disarm said dark wizard. Finally, if they find that they are, in fact, no match for the adult dark wizard, they should then run away after having attempted to curse the him?"

Professor Quirrell's face was, by now, a mask of anger. His hands had stopped fidgeting, Harry noticed, and his eye and cheek were not twitching, either. "I believe that that is what I said," Professor Quirrell finally said.

"Professor," Mr. Malfoy said. "I believe that I have seen enough. I had, I admit, already come to some conclusions in the previous two classes this morning, where your bumbling approach only confused the third and fifth year students – the latter of which, of course, are faced with some of the most important examinations in their lives at the end of this year. Now, in this session, in only twenty minutes, a group of first years have demonstrated that you are not only an obscenely incompetent teacher, but are, in fact, an imbecile. Students, you may consider this class to be dismissed."

"Class dismissed," Professor Quirrell echoed, although the students were already getting up to leave. "Mr. Malfoy, could I have a word before you go?"

Harry, wondering if it would be the last time he saw Professor Quirrell, allowed himself to stare at the man freely as he exited the room. He seemed like an entirely different person to Harry, somehow. His mannerisms were suddenly controlled. He neither twitched nor fidgeted, just glared down at the students as they filed out.

The Slytherins and Hufflepuffs had to go in generally the same direction to get back to their dormitories, so they travelled together, with the exception of Zabini who had disappeared as soon as they were dismissed.

"Good show, Harry," Draco said cheerfully.

"Well, Lavender, Sonny and Kevin helped," Harry pointed out.

"Of course," Draco said dismissively. "Still, all of this is happening because of you. I for one can't wait to see that sack of dung thrown out of here – preferably from the Astronomy tower."

"I suppose we should thank you," Hermione said tentatively. "After all, even if it was Harry's idea, you're the one who made it happen."

Draco, rather than saying 'you're welcome,' said, "I accept your thanks, Granger."

Hermione huffed, but let it roll off of her and forced the best pleasant smile she could. Harry found the interplay rather funny, but wondered if perhaps he shouldn't have.

"I wonder if they'll bring back Old Slug," Harry said.

"Who?" several people asked.

Harry, now in the rare position of having more knowledge about something Hogwarts-related than many of the old bloods, tried not to show that he was savoring the moment, but did. In fact, he only knew this because of that shopkeeper in Diagon Alley. "Professor Slughorn, of course. He was Professor Snape's predecessor, both as potionsmaster and as Head of Slytherin. I'm surprised you didn't know that," he added to the Slytherins at large.

"Of course we knew that," Theodore Nott scoffed.

"Anyway," Harry continued unabated, squeezing his memory for everything that shopkeep had said, "Slughorn was a genius potionsmaster, like Professor Snape, but they say he had a … shall we say, more delicate hand in how he did his teaching."

Everyone, even the Slytherins, although they didn't say it, had to admit that a 'more delicate hand' might be a needful thing in the potions labs.

As the group made it to the Entrance Hall, they went their separate ways, Harry's Slytherin friends promising to come out to the pitch to watch the Hufflepuff try outs. The Hufflepuffs made their own way down Hufflepuff Hall and into their Common Room. Harry, the picture of eagerness, couldn't help himself running up to the boys' suite and ogling his broom again. He settled down with it on his lap on the couch in the Common Room and, somewhat grudgingly, allowed himself to be roped into an impromptu Chinese session with Hermione, who was eager to put the extra time Mr. Malfoy had granted them to good use.

Around an hour and a half later, it was time. Harry was joined by Tosha Timely and Cedric Diggory on the way out, along with a number of other older Hufflepuffs that he hadn't met yet but who were interested in playing, in addition to fifty or so others who just wanted to enjoy the break in the rain and watch the wizarding world's favorite sport.

This mass of students made their way out and around to the back of the castle, and to the pitch, where one boy stood waiting with a very sharp-eyed, fit older woman, who Harry realized must be Madame Hooch.

After the students who were trying out were all assembled on the pitch, the boy spoke. "Ten!" he said loudly. "Ten! What does the number ten mean? Hm? Does anyone know? Ten years it's been since Hufflepuff won the Quidditch Cup! Well I say it's time we turned that around! I say it's time we build a team so great, we'll take home the Cup every year for the next ten years!"

The boy got some cheers from the Quidditch hopefuls at these words. Harry found himself getting excited. The Captain of Hufflepuff knew how to get people going.

"My name is Josh Mallory, and it's my task to make this happen!" he announced. "Last year, we had a pretty good team, but in the end we lost some important games, and Slytherin took home the Cup. So, in spite of the fact that we did well, I've decided to scrap the whole team! Nobody's position is assured – not even Tony, who's been with us for five years now!"

One boy, who was so tall and stubble-chinned that he must have been a seventh year, looked around at the group awkwardly. Then he waved, just a little.

"Not even _me_!" the Captain added. "If there are three Chasers here better than me, I'll put myself on the reserve team! Because there's _nothing_ more important than victory!"

Harry was frankly impressed that their Captain was willing to go so far. He wondered if it was just a bluff, though.

"But there's no time to talk," Mallory went on. "So: I've made four circles on the ground. Seeker candidates, get to the yellow! Chaser candidates, get to the blue! Keeper candidates, red circle! Beaters, white circle!"

Harry, who had thought he might want to try out for more than one position, saw that that wasn't going to happen. Their Captain wanted the most dedicated people – and dedicated people knew what position they wanted. So, along with Cedric Diggory and a few others, he made his way over to the yellow ring. Harry couldn't help but notice that all of the Seeker candidates besides him and Cedric were girls. Cedric, who was a rather well-built boy for a third year, seemed to tower over the girls, even though some of them were older than him. Harry wondered what made the boy so confident that he could get the position, even though he obviously didn't have the right body for it – then he noticed it. Cedric Diggory was holding a Nimbus 2000.

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but feel a bit shaken at the sight of it. He tore his eyes away from Cedric's broom forcefully. He just had to hope that the Comet was good enough, that _he_ was good enough.

Mallory got the Beater candidates up in the air first and had them form a great ring in the air and lob the Bludgers around it. Any time one of them got hit, they would immediately be told to get down on the grass. After anyone made a couple bad passes, they would be told to get down on the grass. In short order, Mallory whittled the ten or so boys and one girl down to just five boys and one girl.

He had those six take a short break and got out a few Quaffles. He sent the Chaser candidates in the air and had them form a similar ring and pass the Quaffles around. Fifteen Chasers was rapidly reduced to eight as some of them made bad passes or failed to catch good ones, or just seemed clumsy.

When their numbers were reduced, Mallory didn't tell them to take a break. Instead, he got the Beaters back in the air and had them start actively pelting the Chasers, who had to keep passing the Quaffles in a ring even while they dodged the Bludgers. Three of the Chasers got hit pretty quick – as did one of the Beaters – and those students were all told to get down to the grass. The remaining four Beaters and five Chasers all seemed pretty good, though. The Chasers were able to dodge everything the Beaters threw at them, and none of them dropped a Quaffle. Harry was happy that Tosha Timely was one of the ones that was doing really well. After they had been going on like this for a few minutes, Mallory seemed pretty satisfied with them.

Next, he sent the Keepers up. The Keepers were made to attempt to block twelve shots from the Chaser candidates, plus Mallory himself. The top fifty percent of them went on to round two: do the same thing, but now with the Beaters trying to pelt you with their nastiest shots. It was soon evident that only two boys were even remotely able to handle this live-fire drill, although Patrick Mayhew, the team's old Keeper, was able to block ten, compared to Tyler Hildeman's eight successful blocks. That being said, Tyler Hildeman was only a second year, so his performance was actually really impressive.

Mallory seemed very happy with the Keepers, and finally it was the Seekers' turn.

First, Mallory told everyone to get back to the grass and take a break in their respective circles and have some water. Then he told all of the Seekers to get in the air. It was the first time Harry had actually ridden his Comet 270-C, and he found that the thrust he used to take off was a bit overkill – the broom's excellent acceleration sent him zipping straight up to the level of the goalposts. It was fast enough, he realized: it was only a hair less fast than Tosha's Galeburst – and Cedric's Nimbus 2000, which was a clone of the Galeburst. The only problem was that it was harder to control than the more advanced broom. But that, he thought, was a problem he could compensate for.

"Stop showing off, Potter! Get back down here!" Mallory yelled. With a grin of embarrassment, Harry floated back down to the level Mallory and the other Seeker hopefuls were hovering at.

"Sorry, Captain. First years can't have brooms, so I'm borrowing one. Not quite used to it, though."

"Right, whatever. Okay, listen up! We don't have time for you to catch the Snitch over and over and over and see who's best, so we've gotta do something else to whittle you down! All right? Catch!" and Mallory reached into his pocket, retrieved a golf ball, and pelted it in a random direction.

Harry was the first to react, snapping to it. However, he miscalculated the flight speed and found himself waiting for the ball to reach him at the destination he'd calculated. Cedric swooped in and snagged it before it ever got there, flashing Harry a grin.

Harry gritted his teeth. He was _not_ going to fail!

As Mallory continued to pelt the golf balls in random directions, Harry quickly got accustomed to the performance of his broom, and after a few false-starts he found that he was getting at least as many as Cedric. Once, he even managed to outflank Cedric and snatch one that had been coming right towards the older boy. After a while, Mallory exhausted the golf balls in his expanded pockets and told the five fliers to come back.

"You! You only caught _two_!" he yelled at one of the girls. Even as she tried to stammer an apology, he just said, "Get down to the green! And _you_! You caught _none_! Get out of here!"

Once the two underperforming girls made their teary ways down to the green, Mallory turned to the remaining three. "You lot all did pretty well," he said. "Cedric caught twenty-two, Potter had eighteen, Rosenthal had sixteen –"

"Seventeen, Sir!" Harry said. "Rosenthal got seventeen."

"Seventeen, was it?" the Captain asked. Rosenthal hesitantly nodded and said that she'd counted seventeen, too. "All right! It's damn close between you three. But Quidditch isn't played with golf balls! Wait right here." Then he floated down to the players waiting in their rings and rapidly organized the Beaters, Keepers and Chasers into two teams – a yellow team and black team, with charmed robes – and had them get to playing a skirmish game. Then he floated back up to the Seeker contenders.

"That lot's going to be showing me what they got so I can make some final decisions," he explained. "But you're free agents! That means all the Beaters can hit you! That means all the Chasers can tackle you! Got that? Right! I have seven Snitches, and you have one hour! Show me what you're made of!" That said, he proceded to take out seven Snitches, one at a time, tap them with his wand to make them temporarily invisible, and pelt them in random directions.

Harry, Cedric and Jasmine Rosenthal exchanged friendly but competitive looks before choosing a random direction and taking off.

Harry had seen how the Seekers candidates of Slytherin all did big, slow figure-eights and ovals in the sky as they hunted their prey like hawks, but he thought he had a better idea. He flew low, twenty feet or so above the level the Chasers were flying at, and zigzagged his way across the pitch systematically. This made him a much more tempting target for the Beaters than the other Seekers were, but with his broom's acceleration and braking capabilities, he was able to dodge most of the Bludgers just by stopping or putting on a burst of speed. The difficulty was in looking in all directions at once, which he solved by making his zigzag pattern a spiral, too. So, doing little circles that gradually drew a zigzag, he made his way methodically over the pitch.

Flying low gave him a huge advantage – from what he had seen, the Snitches liked to hide near the goalposts and the corners of the field, and rarely flew freely at high altitudes. Flying just above the field of the goalposts and the Chasers, he had a wide enough field of vision without being too far away to easily make things out. Furthermore, if he saw the Snitch, he was already a lot closer to it than the other Seekers.

Despite this rather good strategy, in the whole hour Harry only managed to find two of the seven Snitches – and had had several near-misses with the Bludgers. He was frustrated because at one point he had spotted a third Snitch and rushed off to get it, only to alert Cedric to it, allowing Cedric to zip in on his Nimbus 2000 and steal it away.

As Mallory called the skirmish game to a halt and told the Seekers to come in, Harry was extremely disappointed and frustrated with his performance. Mallory ignored the Seekers while he addressed the other players, making his final calls on who would be on the main team and who would be on the reserve team. Harry tried to be happy for Tosha when she was recognized and given the starting back-wing Chaser position, but his disappointment over his own performance was weighing on him. Finally, after everything else was settled, Mallory acknowledged the three players who remained in the sky with him. "How many?" he asked.

"Two," Harry said, holding one in each hand as he stood up on his broom stirrups.

"Two," Cedric said, glancing at Harry as he held them between his fingers.

"I got two," Jasmine Rosenthal said. The three boys just stared at her, and she retrieved the two Snitches from her shirt to prove it.

Mallory gave a low whistle. "Well," he said after a while. "I can't say I expected that." He seemed to be thinking the matter over, trying to decide how to settle it. After a moment, he said, "There's still one more birdie out there, folks. Whoever brings it to me gets the starting spot. Go!"

It was sunset, though. The sun shined bright and low, blinding them when they tried to look down the pitch. Harry flew off in a random direction, just like the others, but he soon realized that he had chosen a bad direction – he was on the east side of the pitch, so he was staring at the sun. This gave him an idea, though. He flew over to the western edge of the pitch and, rather than make a search pattern across the pitch, he instead started very low to the ground and zigzagged his way up. He hoped that the low angle of the sun would reflect the gold of the Snitch right at him if he stayed on the west side of the pitch and just kept his eyes open. Twenty minutes or so later, the fading light of the sun caught it at just the right angle – he saw the golden glint, far away near the opposite goalposts. Harry took a firm grip on his broom and leaned in as low as he could, jetting at the golden glint as fast as his broom could take him.

Then he saw Cedric coming down from above him. Harry didn't know whether Cedric had seen it or not, but it was clear that the boy knew where Harry was going and why.

Harry took a gamble and changed the direction of his flight. Now, instead of going mostly east, he was going almost straight down. Cedric must have assumed that the Snitch had changed positions, because he came straight down, too. Harry put on the speed as much as he could, but soon Cedric's faster broom put him just meters behind and above Harry – but this was all according to Harry's plan. Once Harry thought the time was right, he torqued on his handle hard to brake.

The Nimbus was faster, but its braking wasn't any better. Cedric lost a fraction of a second just because Harry had acted first, and by the time he cranked his own handle it was too late to stop. They were going to crash into each other.

But then Harry did something even more crazy. He gripped his broom as hard as he could, and he pulled up, putting on upwards acceleration as hard as he could.

They collided hard, Harry's shoulder ramming the side of Cedric's head. It hurt a lot, but Harry came out flying up and Cedric came crashing down. Harry barely managed to hang onto his handle, but he was going up, and Cedric was about to hit the ground. Harry bit back any sympathy he felt for the boy. There was no time to watch him fall, no time to worry if he was all right. Jasmine Rosenthal was still out there, although he didn't know where. Harry angled his broom and jetted off to the east.

He had lost track of the Snitch, and now it was nowhere to be seen. But then he saw Rosenthal coming down from high above the eastern side of the pitch. He did some quick mental geometry and pointed himself at her destination, just like Cedric had done with him before.

Harry's broom was just a bit faster, but she was flying directly downwards and had the mass of the Earth and the force of gravity on her side. He couldn't beat her gravity-assisted plummet. She was going to get there first – but then Harry saw the glint of gold, just as Rosenthal come to it. It jerked away suddenly just as she was getting close. Rosenthal reached out her hand. Harry thought it was too far, there was no way – but then she stood up on her stirrups, even as she was flying almost straight down, and she managed to get a pinch on feathery wing, pull it to her chest and hang onto it. And then, barely even still on her broom, she hit the ground very, very hard.

Harry was so stunned by Jasmine's rather incredible catch that he didn't realize that he was still flying at full speed – or rather, he didn't realize what he was flying toward. A second after Rosenthal hit the ground, Harry, staring down at her prone body rather than watching where he was going, smashed hard into the left goalpost. He was unconscious before he even hit the ground, landing right next to Rosenthal.

His mind drifted in the dark, inky soup that was violence-induced unconsciousness for a very long time, floating on the verge of wakefulness but never quite getting there. At one point, he was even aware that his body was moving, but he could not make himself alert.

After a very long time, the inky soup of his mind suddenly and sharply crystallized, and he was awake.

The first thing that he noticed was the pain. When he tried to move his leg, he felt a stabbing, throbbing pain that made him cry out with a strained voice, and he knew that it must be broken. Harry gave up trying to move and just tried to catch his breath. A woman in what had to be a healer's outfit came over and began casting charms over him, saying "Lie still, Mr. Potter. I've treated the head injury but your leg hasn't set yet. If you move too much, we might have to start all over."

The threat of re-breaking his leg and setting it again would have been enough to make Harry cast out all notion of trying to move, if he hadn't already done. "Water?" he said weakly. The healer got a straw into his mouth and he sucked up the water so hard that it went down the wrong pipe and he choked. He would have been coughing for who knows how long if the healer hadn't been there to cast a quick spell that cleared his airway. "Thanks," he said once he could breathe again.

"We'll try the water again in a few minutes, dear," the healer said. "You still need your potion, too."

"All right."

After she walked away, Harry finally got enough control over his body and mind to work up to looking around. Based on the furnishings and accoutrements, not to mention the presence of a healer, it must have been the hospital wing. The room was lit by softly glowing orbs set into the cornices, whose gentle but sufficient orange light caused the eyes to strain neither from it being to bright nor from it being too dim. Unlike most other rooms in the castle, the hospital wing featured painted walls, which were a plain white that somehow seemed very comforting under the orange lamp-orbs. There were about ten or twelve beds, which were comfortable wood-framed cots, although only three were occupied including Harry's own. Each had its own curtain that could be drawn around it, although none of them were, and each had nearby a small table similar to a nightstand and a chair for guests to sit on, although no guests were sitting on them currently. There were two doors – one large one in the middle of the short wall opposite the window, which he assumed led to the second floor corridor, and also a small one at the end of one of the long walls, which the healer had just gone through.

Cedric Diggory was sitting cross-legged on his bed, playing with the last bit of food on the plate on his lap. "Hey," Harry said.

Cedric gave Harry a vexed half-grin. "That was a dirty trick you did back there," he said.

Harry didn't remember anything about it for a moment. Finally, after a thorough search of his mind, the memories of the Quidditch try outs drifted slowly back to him. That's right – he _had_ played a dirty trick on Cedric. "Your broom was faster," Harry explained.

"Yeah," Cedric admitted grudgingly. "If you hadn't done that … well, I guess you had no choice."

"I could have given up," Harry said. "I chose to try to win."

"Right. Not that it helped you," Cedric said. It seemed like whatever resentment he had for Harry had already run its course, though, because his voice no longer held any trace of it, only tiredness.

"Did you get injured?"

"I'm in the hospital wing," Cedric pointed out.

"Right," Harry said. "Sorry."

"It's all right," Cedric said. "All three of us got injured. Look, that's Jas over there."

Easily recognizable by her short, curly, strawberry blond hair, there could be no doubt about it. "She hit it hard," Harry remembered.

"Not as hard as you," Cedric said.

"She's the Seeker, then," Harry realized.

"Yeah," Cedric said. "I'm the reserve."

"You're the reserve," Harry repeated. The words seemed to hover before him and wouldn't quite settle in. Harry's vision narrowed to a distant pinpoint as the words slowly wormed their way into his mind: he hadn't even made the _reserve_ team.

"Well," Cedric explained, oblivious to Harry's anxiety. "You did a foul play that resulted in the injury of another player. In a real game, that would have cost the whole team. And _then_ you crashed into the goal post."

The healer came back and had Harry try again to drink some water. When he managed to do so without almost drowning himself, she then had him take a bright blue potion. "What's this, then?" he asked as he struggled to get his mind to work at full speed again, reassuring himself that it was fine, he didn't need to be on the team, _stop freaking out over such a little thing_ –

The healer rolled her eyes. Apparently she didn't take too kindly to patients asking about their treatment. Still, she explained: "I used a charm to set your bone. This potion will heal it."

So Harry drank. Immediately, he noticed two things about the potion: first, it made his leg feel like it was bring drilled into from every possible angle with Grunnings diamond-tip bits. Secondly, he suspected that it might be spiked with something else, because he immediately felt a fog of drowsiness rush over him, and within seconds he was asleep.

When he came to again, it must have been around five thirty or so judging by the hint of dawn that graced the sky out the window. Cedric and Jasmine were asleep. Harry very tentatively patted down his leg before attempting to move it. It didn't hurt, but it was slightly swollen, numb and stiff.

"Incredible," he said. That his broken leg had been put to rights in just a few hours really amazed him. Magic really was at its best when used for medicine.

A few moments after he awoke, there was a soft popping sound, and an elf appeared with a simple wooden tray of water, slices of soft French bread and butter, and a bowl of mixed fruits. "Thank you," Harry managed to say before the creature disappeared.

Having missed dinner after only having a relatively light lunch, Harry dug into the simple food enthusiastically. After finishing every bite, he sat back with a grimace as the events of the Quidditch try outs played out before him again. He had failed. He had used dirty tactics to take Cedric out of the running, and he had still failed.

Someone had placed a clean set of clothes on the little table next to him while he was asleep, so, deciding not to care about privacy since the other occupants were asleep, Harry stood up and threw off his hospital gown and started getting dressed in his uniform.

Harry knew just enough about hospitals to know that he couldn't just leave when he wanted. So, now dressed, he sat back down on the bed and started passing the time by reviewing what little he had learned about the Chinese language so far. It was better by far than dwelling on his failure.

He sat there with his eyes slightly crossed under closed eyelids, occasionally muttering to himself, occasionally opening his eyes to look around, once again, for a clock, but there was no clock.

Finally, the healer came into the room. "Ah," she said. "Resistant to sleeping potions, are we? Well, I see you're feeling better, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "I feel like a whole new me. Can I go?"

She clicked her tongue. "Just a few more things to check, Mr. Potter. Lie down, please."

With a sigh that he couldn't quite suppress, he did as he was told. The healer only did a few spells on his leg to confirm that it had healed straight and strong, then a few more spells over the rest of him just to confirm that he was whole and well.

"I suppose there's no reason to keep you," she said him just as Jasmine Rosenthal sat up and started rubbing her eyes. "If you experience any lightheadedness, headaches, numbness or loss of vision or hearing, please have one of your friends escort you back immediately. Now, off you go, Mr. Potter."

Before he left, though, Harry walked over to Jasmine's bed and said, "Hey, nice job. Congratulations."

She smiled at him sleepily. "By the skin of my teeth," she admitted. "Thanks."

Harry's broomstick – Becca's broomstick, officially – had been placed next to Jasmine's and Cedric's on an empty bed. He was grateful that it hadn't been totally destroyed by his hard impact with that goalpost, but there was a rather bad gouge running down most of its length, now. He wondered if it still flew all right.

It would be a long time before he got a chance to find out, he realized glumly. Harry threw the broom over his shoulder and left the hospital wing in rather dark spirits. It was still very early, so of course he didn't encounter anyone on his way to Hufflepuff Hall, but he was surprised to see several of his friends sitting by the Central Hearth once he got into the Common Room. "Harry!" Hermione cried, rushing over to him as soon as he had come through the apple painting, pulling him into a hug.

"Are you okay?" she asked worriedly.

"'Course," he said. "Smashing into a brass pole at one hundred and sixty miles per hour isn't going to do much."

His joke was predictably lost on her. Or rather, she said, "Harry! You shouldn't joke about that! You could have _died_ , you know."

Harry had to smile at her concern and her outrage. "Sorry," he said. "I'm perfectly fine, though. The goalposts are charmed, I think. I just bounced off."

Neville, Ernie, Susan and Cerie made their way over. Neville said, "We were just about to visit you, you know. Surprised you're released already."

Harry shrugged.

Ernie said, "That was some mad flying back there, mate. I gotta wonder if your head was all right even before you cracked it open."

Harry waved it off. "It wasn't much," he said. "Barely felt it."

Susan said, "Harry, there was a _lot_ of blood, you know. And you wouldn't wake up for hours."

Harry, who had thought that his leg injury was the most serious thing, frowned. "Really?" he said. "I don't even remember hitting my head."

"Well you _wouldn't_ , would you?" Hermione said.

"S'pose not," he agreed. "Well. Wow. That _is_ pretty scary. Sorry, everyone. For worrying you, I mean. My brain is fine."

"More importantly," Ernie said, "It's bloody shocking, it is – that you didn't make the team, I mean. You were only a hair away from the Snitch. So why did Diggory get the reserve position?"

Harry shrugged and said, "Cedric said it had something to do with the self-inflicted injury. And something to do with seriously injuring another player."

Ernie waved that away, though. "That always happens," he said. "Seekers get injured all the time. And I've seen Snitch races a lot more brutal than that one."

"I'm not interested in being on the reserve team, anyway," Harry said.

"Don't say that, mate," Ernie said. "I mean, you can't tell me you wouldn't accept it if you were given the position."

"Ernie, just stop!" Hermione exclaimed. "He nearly died, you know! Of course he isn't interested in Quidditch anymore."

"I didn't say that!" Harry burst out, scandalized.

"Hermione, don't even try," Cerie said, taking Hermione under her arm just as she was about to explode. "He's a boy. Hit his head as hard as you like, you can't make him forget about Quidditch."

Hermione stuck out her lip and glared at the floor. Harry had to laugh at her display, which did not improve her mood one bit. "Oh, look on the bright side, Hermione," he said placatingly. "This means more time for academic projects, doesn't it? Less time being forced to attend violent, stupid sporting events. From your point of view, it's a coup!"

Hermione kept glaring at the floor, but it definitely lost its edge.

"From your point of view," Ernie said pointedly, "It's a disaster! I mean, not only did you not get the position – after bragging to Slytherin about how good you are – but also, you smashed into a goalpost! Humiliating!"

"Thanks, Ernie," Harry said. "I'm really glad you laid that all out for me so eloquently."

"I was watching you the whole time, you know," Ernie continued, apparently immune to sarcasm. "You shouldn't have been shadowing Diggory the whole time like that. While you two were going at it like a pair of kneasels in heat, Rosenthal was cleaning up shop!"

Harry's brow scrunched as he frowned deeply.

Looking back, it was true – he had been so focused on Cedric, with his impressive broom and intimidating body, that he hadn't really paid much attention to Jasmine at all. Similarly, Cedric had been treating Harry like the only real competition the whole time. If they had been more focused on playing the game, and less focused on beating each other, one or the other of them would probably be Seeker now, instead of Jasmine Rosenthal.

Of course, if Harry had decided to ignore Cedric, and Cedric hadn't decided to ignore Harry – or the other way around – then the one ignoring the other would have been decimated by the one still focused on the other, being blindsided over and again instead of keeping their guard up.

Since Harry and Cedric were both better Seekers than Rosenthal – and since Cedric's size and excellent broom were matched by Harry's reputation – naturally, they were more focused on each other. Yet, since they were focused on running interference on each other rather than on being the best Seeker they could be, they were worse Seekers than Rosenthal.

It made his brain do a cartwheel.

"There's always next year, Harry," Neville said with a small smile. "I'm sure if you practice, maybe you can try out again."

Harry returned Neville's smile, grateful for his words even though he saw the absurdity of them: Mallory had made quite a big point about how he was building a team for years to come, and Jasmine Rosenthal was only a second year. Harry had no illusions that the Seeker position would be up for grabs again next year. Even if it was, while Harry was probably a better Seeker than Rosenthal today, he probably wouldn't be a year from today, since Rosenthal would be training intensively throughout the whole year. And then there was Cedric, who was at least as good as Harry if not a bit better – he, too, would be training intensively as part of the reserve team.

It was a missed opportunity that Harry had no illusions about having a second chance for.

"It's all right," he said. "It wasn't vital to my plans, anyway."

It was only by the looks of confusion on everyone's faces bar Hermione that Harry realized that he had said something that he should not have said – only Hermione knew that Harry's main motivation for playing Quidditch had not been the love of the game, but rather the admiration and recognition that it would get him from the rest of the student body who did love the game. While that information wasn't exactly shocking, it did not fit the image he was trying to create. He had been telling everyone that he was only interested in playing Quidditch for Hufflepuff because he _loved_ Quidditch and _loved_ Hufflepuff. To suddenly blurt out that he had had ulterior motivations – that Quidditch had just been a small part of a larger plan – was unacceptable.

Harry saw by the dawning realization in the eyes of Susan and Cerie that his meaning had made itself clear to them. Still, there was Ernie and Neville, who still looked as confused as ever – he could, with the right words, possibly redirect them before they, too, drew the correct conclusion. "I mean," he said, "It's not like I want to play for England or anything. I'm happy just flying and throwing a ball around, you know?"

Ernie and Neville's faces went from confusion to understanding even as Susan and Cerie's faces went from understanding to skepticism. Harry looked to Hermione for help. She said, "That's right. We're going to be enchanters. We'll have no time for silly games."

He wanted to palm his face. He smiled instead – broadly.

"Quidditch isn't a silly game," Ernie said stridently. "It's really quite serious business, you know. In fact, it's one of the biggest businesses in the country, in terms of revenue. Last year, Puddlemere United alone netted over nine hundred thousand galleons in tickets, merchandise, sponsorships, and other sources. And that's just _one team_ , a British National Association for Quidditch team. I can't even tell you how much money is involved in the International League – and that's just in things directly related to the game itself. When you add in hotels, meals and other purchases made by spectators, the numbers are insane! Oh, and then there's the _gambling_ , of course! And don't even get me started on the broomstick industry –" and Ernie went on and on about how much money was involved in Quidditch for quite a long time, until it became clear even to Ernie that nobody was paying attention anymore. At that point, he concluded: "All I'm saying is, it's not a just a game!"

"All right, Ernie," Hermione said. "It's an important industry, not a silly game."

"Thank you," Ernie said.

"Well, there's still time for a shower before breakfast. I got a bit dirty yesterday, so." Harry made his way to his suite, where Wayne and Justin were just getting up, and deposited his broomstick in the tin box that was sitting on his dresser with no small amount of remorse. He realized that it would have to be moved to Becca's room soon. He had a quick but thorough shower.

Although he had failed, it was true that it wasn't vital to his plans. It was just an opportunity that he had wanted to take advantage of. Without it, he was still fine. He would simply have to find another way to prove himself. And so Harry tried to put away his disappointment and frustration by insisting to himself that it was immaterial.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

* * *

Some notes:

Well, that didn't go exactly according to plan! I guess probably most people figured either Harry would get Seeker or Cedric would beat him out. So I hope this third possibility came right out of left field for you! In the end, Harry and Cedric sabotaged each other, and the Seeker position went to Little Miss OC instead! Well, Harry and Cedric both learned the first rule of any game: never take your eyes off the ball.


	11. Chapter 11

The Tinkerer

Chapter 11

The students of Hogwarts were, at large, rather kind in their discussing of Harry's failure. While many people came up to him and asked if he had recovered from his injuries, only a few people could be heard laughing about the humiliating way in which he had received them. Harry realized that what he was now suffering wasn't anything compared to what Zabini was still enduring – especially since Harry was already used to people staring at him and talking about him – so he did his best to grin and bear it.

That brought to mind the Zabini situation, of course. Harry was actually rather surprised that, after four days, nobody had accused him of being the one to do it. A lot of people knew about it: all of Hufflepuff, plus Draco, plus probably some of Draco's friends – but nobody had talked. If it was a trial by fire, like Becca had said, then it seemed that Draco and the Hufflepuffs were fire-proof. Although some had expressed remorse about it, none of them had sold the group out.

While it was true that he had made sure Draco was partially responsible, most of the Puffs really hadn't done anything to earn a share of the blame, other than knowing about it before it happened and not stopping it. So while Draco was doubly bound by loyalty and shared guilt, the Puffs were acting only out of loyalty to the group, and to Harry.

The steadfastness displayed by his friends was something he treasured. Even when it bubbled up in a rather unkind way during breakfast. The Puffs were approached by the boys of Gryffindor who had been hanging around Weasley and picking on Zabini. The two boys took a moment to very awkwardly introduce themselves to Harry and the others as Seamus Finnigan and Oliver Rivers.

Seamus said, "That was some good flying yesterday, Harry. You should have had it!"

His phrasing caused only irritation in Harry, though, who scowled.

Then Oliver said, "Look, we wanted to apologize about what happened on Tuesday. You were right – Zabini's suffered enough. Ron went too far."

"He shouldn't have hit you," Seamus added emphatically.

"It was really good of you to get him another chance," Oliver said.

Seamus nodded, saying, "Most people would have tried to get him punished more, not less."

Ernie couldn't listen to another word. "Unlike Harry and Hermione, I don't give a lick what you do to Zabini," he suddenly snapped. "You can harass him every day for the rest of the year and it won't bother me in the least. But what Weasley did to Harry was inexcusable. I mean, physical violence? For what! So look, we're not interested in talking with you goons about it. So just piss off, would you? You're ruining my breakfast."

"Now, hang on –" Oliver said, even while Seamus just repeated the word 'goons' in shock.

"Ernie, it's all right," Harry said. "They tried to hold him back, didn't they? They're apologizing."

"Too little, too late," Ernie declared. "Look, if you two really feel bad about it, show us."

But Ernie wouldn't explain what he meant by that. The two Fendor boys, looking rather put out and a bit shocked, made their way back to their own table.

"People like that..." Ernie said darkly.

"I think it was really good of them," Hermione said. "I don't see why you had to be so rude."

"It's a lack of integrity," Ernie explained. His voice and the light in his eyes were extremely serious. "They were just as bad as Weasley – now they're trying to use him as a scapegoat for their own actions. Don't you get it? They're turning their backs on him like he means nothing to them."

"I get it," Harry said. "You told them to show us – they're going to show us by throwing him away like a broken toy, aren't they?"

Ernie's eyes, when they locked with Harry's, were swirling with anger.

Harry was glad all over again that he was a Puff and not a Fendor. Once Ernie had laid it out so plainly, he was not the only one at their table that was disgusted by the lack of loyalty displayed by the Fendor boys. Susan Bones, in particular, seemed to find it reprehensible.

"Very brave of them, working up the nerve to stab their friend in the back," she said darkly.

Even Hermione had changed her opinion and decided that their apology wasn't such a good thing at all. "If they had come here _with_ Ronald, and they all apologized, it would be one thing," she said. "But they came here to distance themselves from him."

That was the Puff way of thinking. If your friend does something wrong and you sell them out, now you've both done something wrong, and you've lost a friend. There was nothing more important than their bond of brotherhood, and there was nothing worse that someone who would dishonor that bond. According to this way of thinking, Weasley's two treacherous accomplices were worse than Weasley himself.

"Of course they'd rather be friends with _Harry Potter_ than Ronald Weasley," Harry said.

"Of course they would," said a voice behind him. Draco wasn't looking at Harry but instead sneering at the Fendor boys who were resuming their seats at their table.

"Good morning, Draco," Harry said.

Draco took a moment to favor the Fendors with one disgusted shake of the head, then turned to the Puffs with a pleasant expression. Sometimes the plasticity of Draco's face amazed Harry. "Good morning, Hufflepuffs," he said, looking around at the group. Then to Harry, "That was a good show, yesterday."

"I don't really want to talk about Quidditch," Harry said.

"Good. That's not what I wanted to talk about, either. Could I have a quick word in private?"

Harry allowed Draco to lead him out of the Great Hall and down the ground floor corridor until they came to a particularly dormant-looking classroom.

"It seems like there's a ridiculous number of abandoned classrooms," Harry said, looking around.

"There used to be more teachers," Draco said. "And more students. My father is always saying that this school is on its last legs, the way Dumbledore's running it."

"Is it really that bad?" Harry asked. Draco just looked around at the classroom, which looked like nobody had used it in years. Just looking around the school, with its innumerable empty classrooms, not to mention the parts of the castle that were in disrepair, the evidence of decline was clear enough to see.

Draco said,"That was very well-played with Zabini. That arrogant little upstart isn't going to get any lofty ideas for a long time to come."

"Thanks," Harry said, although he wasn't entirely comfortable with Draco's phrasing.

"The potion you used – what was it?"

"I just invented it for Zabini," Harry explained. "I call it the Madeleine Episode Potion because it basically causes a madeleine episode. That's a reference to Proust."

"You invented that?" Draco repeated. He looked extremely impressed, so much so that Harry actually found himself feeling a bit proud.

"Well, yeah. I'm a bit of an inventor. My thing in the muggle world, you know."

Draco nodded and said, "In my family, we make it our business to keep apprised of developments in the muggle world. I can't say that I understand your computers, but I've heard of them. I've heard the thing you made is really impressive."

"Few muggles even know how computers work," Harry explained. "Even though muggle society increasingly relies on computers to function. They are incredibly complicated and expensive machines, so they're normally left alone by people who aren't trained in using them. I'm surprised you've even heard of them – Ernie and Susan had no idea what computers are."

"We don't normally let on that we know about the muggle world, but some families make a point of keeping informed." Draco paused, looking at Harry curiously before he added, "It's kind of strange to think of you in the muggle world. Most people assumed you were in magical New Zealand or Argentina or something. I say we try to stay informed, but we never heard about the famous boy genius in the muggle world."

"I wouldn't go that far," Harry said. "It's just a computer program."

"Well, like I said, I don't really know what that means. But they say you're considered a genius. Anyway, after that scene outside of Transfiguration, I think the rumors may be true. You know, Zabini will never suspect you now. I must say, and please take this as a compliment: it was terribly devious to first injure him secretly and then help him publicly. I think our friend Zabini even thinks he owes you a favor, now. Quite a turnaround."

Draco stroked his jaw with his thumb and continued with a speculative air, "I was curious, though – you could have gotten Weasley suspended, at least. So why did you cut him loose?"

"I assume you remember that scene he caused in Charms, the same day Zabini did?" Draco nodded. Harry said, "I was going to do something about him then, but Hermione said she didn't think he was worth bothering with, since he's going to get himself expelled soon enough regardless. Now, I wanted to do something to him _anyway_ , but as it was Hermione that he insulted, I agreed to respect her wishes. So we gave him a pass. Yet it bothered me to see the Weasley situation left unresolved, even if we think he'll fail out of Hogwarts. Now, I interfered with his abuse of Zabini for the reasons you mentioned – I did not expect him to hit me. When he did hit me, though, I thought to use it to my advantage. Not to punish Weasley, but to bring him under my boot so that maybe, one day, his aggressive, idiotic nature may be used for my benefit. You see, even after he flunks out, he'll still remember that I saved his skin. He'll remember that I was forgiving of him even when he deserved to be punished. It might be useful one day."

Of course, Harry's motives for helping Zabini had been rather less cutthroat than what Draco believed, but it wouldn't hurt Harry to have Draco think that he was a skilled player in the game, as he evidently did. The truth was that he hadn't so much stood up for Zabini as stood up for Hermione, and if Hermione hadn't told Ron and the other boys to leave Zabini alone, Harry wouldn't have gotten himself involved. It was only _after_ he had decided to help Hermione stand up for Zabini that he realized that standing up for Zabini could benefit him.

Harry's reasons for helping Weasley, on the other hand, were still unclear to Harry himself – he was still not entirely sure if he had done it just to earn Weasley's devotion, as he had told Draco, or if it had been an act of generosity and forgiveness, as it had appeared to most of the witnesses of the scene; perhaps he had done it for both reasons: it was a good thing to do that also just happened to benefit him.

Draco's head lifted up appreciatively, but he said, "I wouldn't count on a Weasley to remember the favors they owe. They're not exactly good at accounts."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe he won't," he allowed.

"You should have just had him expelled," Draco opined. "You say eventually he'll get himself expelled anyway, but that 'eventually' could have already come if you didn't give him another chance."

"Even if Weasley forgets that he owes me one," Harry said, "everyone else knows that I helped him when I had reason to hurt him. If I had gotten angry and demanded he be punished, I would have looked petty. Doing what I did, I look like a damn saint."

Draco said, "Quite right. Weasley and Zabini aren't worth our time talking about, though: we don't have a lot of time before Charms. I wanted to talk to you about Quirrell."

Something about his tone made Harry think that he was about to hear some bad news. "Draco?"

Draco's frown grew a degree more pronounced. He said, "You remember, Professor Quirrell asked my father for a private word after class yesterday? Well, apparently they came to a compromise."

Harry didn't understand that at all. It had seemed like Draco's father was half a step away from physically escorting Professor Quirrell off the school campus. That they had reached some sort of agreement baffled him. "What kind of compromise?"

"Professor Quirrell has agreed to stick to a Board of Governors-approved curriculum," Draco said. "He'll also be taking a Stuttering Suppressing Solution."

"I see," Harry said slowly. "And … that's all that your father could do?"

"He wouldn't explain why," Draco admitted.

"Draco," Harry said carefully. "It's almost like Professor Quirrell has something on him. What could he possibly have on your father?"

Draco's eyes drifted to the right as he considered. Then he sharply met Harry's eyes with a focused gleam in his. "Nothing," he said. "I don't see what he could possibly have."

But it was clear that he did have some idea. Harry remembered what Neville had told him about Draco's father – that he had committed terrible crimes under the influence of the Imperius Curse. With someone like that, there could be no telling what kind of blackmail _anyone_ might have. To Harry, Draco's father suddenly seemed far less powerful and far less reliable. He was evidently vulnerable to extortion. Professor Quirrell did not seem like a very resourceful man at all, and yet he had something on Lucius Malfoy that was bad enough to force a 'compromise' – a ridiculous one, at that. Professor Quirrell had only agreed to teach the curriculum and take care of his health problems, something which any self-respecting human being should already do.

Harry said, "Draco, look. I don't know if you realize this, but I'm a bit famous. Maybe there's something I can do to help."

Draco shook his head, though. "No," he said firmly. "My father knows what's best."

Harry firmed his shoulders and gave Draco a very serious look. He said, "Draco, this isn't _for_ your father. This is for the students, remember?"

"I know that, Harry," he said.

"Then you should know that I'm not going to stop trying just because your father is," Harry said. "Not unless your father actually tells me to. I don't want to hurt your family, you know that. But I don't want to leave it at this, either. I don't want to leave this job only half done."

"And if he did tell you to stop?"

"If he tells me that, face to face, then I will," Harry promised. "But I want to speak to him face to face."

Draco suddenly narrowed his eyes in anger. " _I_ speak for my family, Harry. _I_ do. You don't need to talk to my father."

Harry had the realization that he was coming to a crossroads. How far did he really want to push this issue? While it was true that he wanted Professor Quirrell gone, he decided that it wasn't worth alienating himself to the Malfoys. It wasn't worth alienating himself to Draco. He sighed and pinched his earlobe. "All right," he said. "All right, Draco. I'll stop."

He would stop. He wouldn't push any further on this issue. But he would always remember that a pathetic man like Professor Quirrell was able to push Lucius Malfoy around. And he would find out why. He would have to keep it secret from Draco, but he would find out what Professor Quirrell had on Lucius Malfoy.

As Harry watched the anger evaporate from Draco's face like so much morning mist, there was a flash of some expression – calculation, perhaps? – and then Draco's customary friendly expression was on his face. As his face settled into that easy-going but alert smile he wore, Harry realized that it was the first time he had seen it that morning, and he noticed that Draco's eyes looked a bit tired. He wondered if the boy had stayed up very late last night

"Let's get to Charms," he said. "We're almost late."

By lunchtime, the rumors about Professor Quirrell's literally overnight transformation was the talk of the castle. The second and fourth years who had his lessons said that he was like an entirely new person. He had also apparently completely thrown out his old curriculum, telling students not to bother with essays he had previously assigned. But whether the new class was better or worse than the old class seemed to be an open question and a matter of debate. But the first years would not have the dubious pleasure of finding out until the following day.

In Potions, the last class of the day, Harry closely observed the potionsmaster. Professor Snape's good mood had evaporated once it became clear that Professor Quirrell wasn't going anywhere soon. Quite at odds with how he had complimented Neville two days before, Harry witnessed him literally breathing down the boy's neck at one point during the class. He didn't think the way Neville shivered was due to it tickling, either. Fortunately, Neville had Justin as a partner, and while Neville's hands shook with his extreme anxiety, Justin was as unflappable as usual and was able to take the knife out of Neville's shaking hands before he cut someone.

Even while he observed Professor Snape's rather cruel behavior to his friend, Harry formulated a plan to put that ill nature to good work. He pretended to make a mistake at the final step and need to start his potion all over again. He wanted to be the very last student to turn in the Sneezing Suppressing Solution.

By the time he finished, last in the class as planned, Professor Snape was staring at him with that dark, speculative stare that he sometimes favored Harry with.

"Most unusual for you, Mr. Potter, to make a mistake on such a simple brew," Professor Snape intoned as he accepted Harry's phial of finished concoction. The way Professor Snape had said it made it quite clear that he knew that Harry had some sort of ulterior motive, although of course there was no way for him to know just what that motive was.

Knowing that there was little point in pretending, Harry decided to be candid. "Actually, I wanted to have a word with you. The mistake was a rouse."

Professor Snape's eyebrow twitched into an arch before his face resumed its regular grim expression. He did not tell Harry to go on.

Harry said, "Professor. It has come to my attention that you have in the past expressed some interest in the Defense post."

Professor Snape said nothing, nor did his expression shift in the slightest.

"I had hoped to make such a position available, but it seems that my plan didn't work as well as I had expected."

Professor Snape's upper lip pinched up and in ever so slightly, making it look like he was about to bare his fangs. He said, "I am aware that you sought to have Quirinus fired. Are you suggesting that you did so with the intent of having me take his place, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir," Harry said. "I didn't know that you fancied the position until after I was already planning to have Professor Quirrell fired. However, once I knew that you _did_ want the job, it occurred to me that you might be very well-suited for that position. So, although it wasn't my original intent to have you teach Defense, I was looking forward to seeing what direction you would take the class."

Professor Snape's question came as a harsh snap: "Do you have a point, Mr. Potter?" Apparently the potionsmaster did not take too kindly to being reminded what he had _almost_ had. It was a sentiment that Harry, who had been listening to various near-strangers console him over his Quidditch failure all day, could relate to.

"I'm not trying to remind you of what was taken away from you," Harry said diplomatically. "Instead, I have an idea that I think you may find to be an interesting alternative."

Professor Snape's head tilted very slightly. Harry decided to interpret that as interest.

"Professor, how would you feel about leading the students in an extracurricular Defense club?"

Professor Snape blinked, then narrowed his eyes. Harry decided to interpret that as surprise and intrigue.

"You would be given free reign to teach the students what you like," Harry said, "Without following any curriculum. You would also be able to exclude any students you did not want to teach, without giving any reason for it. Finally, I believe that, should you decide to lead a Defense club, it would make you a natural selection should the position of Defense instructor become available in the future."

Professor Snape stared intensely at Harry, his eyes flickering from Harry's right to his left, as if trying to probe him for any hidden agenda. Harry tried to suppress the shiver than ran up his spine. Finally, he said, "What makes you think that I would allow _you_ to participate in such a club?"

It was not a remark Harry had been prepared for, so he tried to interpret its significance quickly. He deduced that it could either be a personal insult or it could just be Professor Snape's way of asking why he would want to teach first year students. With Professor Snape, it was hard to tell sometimes exactly what his real meaning was – not least of all when trying to discern personal insults from more general insults. Harry, deciding to assume that it was _not_ a personal insult, for the sake of continuing the conversation in an agreeable tone, said, "Professor, of course I would want to be part of the club. However, I recognize that OWL and NEWT students may be more in need of it than first year students. Like I said, it would be up to your discretion who you will teach."

After a long, thoughtful pause, Professor Snape said, "I will consider it."

By the following afternoon, when the first years were scheduled to get their first taste for the new Professor Quirrell, the rumors surrounding his 'transformation' were getting rather out of hand. Some of the students claimed that he had charged into the classroom and cursed them, laughing maniacally and praising the power of the dark arts. Others said that he was even more boring than he had been before, and they hadn't managed to stay awake for the whole class. The only thing everyone agreed on: his stutter, which had caused Harry migraines in every class session, was gone without a trace.

The first years entered the classroom with feelings of interest and apprehension. As they all filed into the room, many of them coming early, they exchanged their forecasts and expectations, based on the rumors. But truly, nobody knew quite what to expect.

Professor Quirrell came into the room with a slamming of the door that startled everyone. His wand was in his hand – he flicked it several times, and in a moment half of the class was under a Full-Body Bind Curse. Harry stood with his own wand raised, but he did not know a spell to use. He tried to levitate Professor Quirrell's wand out of his hand, but it did not work. He felt the magic try to lift the wand, but it was easily overcome by Professor Quirrell's strength and the wand's resistance to foreign magic. Professor Quirrell flicked his wand again, and Harry was among the next group to get bound by the curse. Unlike the others who were frozen in their seats, Harry and the few others who had stood – Susan, Sonny and Weasley – all tumbled over, knocking away chairs behind them with great crashes, and lay frozen on their backs. As Harry lay on the ground, migraine igniting, anger fueling it, unable to so much as twitch, his anger was touched by a feeling of great doubt as he wondered if he had made a mistake in interfering with the class. Within seconds, Professor Quirrell had disabled every single one of the students.

He glared balefully at them as their eyes, the only part of their bodies that could move, looked around in alarm.

"You are all dead," he said.

The words hung in the air. Although he spoke softly, the words seemed very loud in a classroom full of students whose jaws were locked shut, who could make no more noise than that of heavy nasal breathing.

"There are those who have objected to my curriculum," Professor Quirrell continued softly. "But know this: if you are ever faced with a dark wizard, you will either run away or you will _die_.

"The Board of Governors would have me teach you how to deal with doxies and jibberwings and foiblers. Pests, household pests. The Board of Governors feels that this is what you should be learning in this class. How to deal with pests."

He stood there in front of them, sweeping them with another dark glare. It lingered, Harry thought, briefly on Draco, and then on Harry. "I had thought I was teaching a Defense Against the Dark Arts class," Professor Quirrell said. "But it seems that the Board of Governors would rather I teach a pest-control class. So that is what I will do. But before we go into the _intricacies_ of exterminating rodents and minor fairies, I would give you this final lesson: if you dare to stand your ground before a dark wizard, that ground shall be your grave. Against the dark arts, there can be no defense other than the dark arts itself, because dark wizards know spells that cannot be blocked and which kill in an instant. You will run, or you _will_ die."

With a wave of his wand, Professor Quirrell released the students from the curse.

As Harry took Terry and Neville's hands to help him up, most of the class was either stunned into complete silence or had erupted into yelling.

Professor Quirrell lifted his wand again, and those students who had been yelling fell silent under his glare. But then he turned to the blackboard, and with a flick some notes began to appear on the board.

"Jibberwings," Professor Quirrell said with unveiled derision. Then his voice shifted – any trace of the intensity with which he had spoken to them moments before was completely gone, and he continued with a monotone that could put raging hippogryffs to sleep: "They appear as large moths with blue-black wings with white spots. You will find an illustration on page seventeen. Although they appear harmless, jibberwings are bloodsuckers that favor the magical blood of wizardkind, as well as hags, goblins, dwarvenkind, elves and other magical races. Jibberwings can spread several diseases, including dragon pox, yellow fever and tauroculosis, as well as bacterial and fungal infections of a number of kinds. Any sign of infection, including inflamation, redness, acute stinging pain, rash, or other irritation, should be treated with standard potions and charms."

Harry, like many of the other students in the class, was listening to this monotone lecture with little attention. After the shocking events at the beginning of the class, the incredibly boring lecture on jibberwings was somewhat disconcerting. Besides Hermione, Kevin and a few other Ravenclaws, none of the students in the class were making any effort to take notes on the gibbering jibberwing speech. Instead, they were looking around with expressions of shock, reeling from the contrast between the harsh lesson at the start of the class and the academic drivel being spewed out now.

Their professor was far from done, however. His voice only became somehow more and more emotionless as he continued on with his painfully boring Board of Governors-approved spiel. "Unlike most other bloodsucking insects, jibberwings are quite large, making them easier to avoid – for that reason, they prey primarily on people who are sleeping, infants, the infirm, the elderly and others who cannot easily defend themselves. Many common bug-repellent charms are known to prevent jibberwing incursion into private residences and properties. Ministry housing standards require that such a charm should be applied over all permanent residences. In areas with high jibbingwing density, the Ministry recommends the application of a Strength Two or Three Jibberwing Repellent Solution for people over the age of eleven, or a Strength One Solution for children under eleven. The Solution must be spread over all exposed skin."

The professor took a breath and paused. The students looked around, all unsure if he was done yet. He gazed around at them with a sort of dark humor, as if to say, _this is what you asked for_. Harry opened his book to the relevant page, to find that yes, what their professor was telling them now was almost exactly what was printed there.

Then he went on. "While jibberwings are vulnerable to a number of simple charms and jinxes, the Ministry recommends the use of the simple Shoo Fly Charm. The Shoo Fly Charm may be applied to outdoor lamps to keep the pests away when spending time outdoors in the evening when permanent bug-repellant charms are unavailable, for example when camping. The Shoo Fly Charm is a displacement-type vanishing charm which causes insects and other small animals to disappear and reappear where they won't bother you anymore. The Shoo Fly Charm is part of the standard OWL curriculum. Children who are unable to use the Shoo Fly Charm are advised to use the Solution or have your parents or guardians place the Shoo Fly Charm on any outdoor lamps while spending time outside in the evenings in areas with a high concentration of jibberwings. Jibberwings are classified as 'mostly harmless' pests by the Deperartment for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Jibberwings are not considered keystone species and are not endangered. Jibberwings are known to plant their larvae in the corpses of magical creatures, especially the blueraddle frog and the duck-footed hare. Jibberwing larvae have a gestation period of four to six days. A single jibberwing female may make as many as four hundred larvae in her life."

The seemingly endless list of facts about the insects continued for the remaining two hours of the period. Professor Quirrell went into detail about seemingly every imaginable facet of jibberwing existence and how they interacted with other species. By the end of the lecture, anyone who had not drifted into a state of supreme, consciousness-numbing boredom had become an expert on jibberwings.

It was only after half an hour that Harry, who had gotten used to associating pain with Professor Quirrell's classes, realized that he _still had a headache_! He had been so sure that it wouldn't come back once the teacher was able to speak normally. And yet, it seemed that it made absolutely no difference – a thought which infuriated Harry, and the more angry he got about it, the worse the headache seemed to get, until finally he forced himself to calm down.

As the class finally came to an end and the students quietly left, the words Professor Quirrell had said at the start of the class rang in his head once more: _Against the dark arts, there can be no defense other than the dark arts itself, because dark wizards know spells that cannot be blocked and which kill in an instant._ Perhaps their teacher was right, he realized. After all, Harry knew all about the Killing Curse. Against a foe who would use such a spell, how could there be any defense?

And so the very concept of a Defense Against the Dark Arts class seemed foolish, suddenly: it was a class dedicated to defending against that for which there was no defense. It was an impossible lesson to teach, and so Professor Quirrell and the Board of Governors had come up with other things to teach instead: Professor Quirrell had tried to impart his motto of "Run away saves the day," while the Board of Governors had reinterpreted the class as a Defense Against Annoying Animals class. Neither method made any sense, but that was only because they were both desperate attempts to find something to teach in a class that does not make any sense.

Harry realized, too, just how little he knew about the dark arts. He understood that they were spells and magics which were prohibited: did that make legilimency a dark art, since Neville had said it was prohibited? He knew that they were spells which could hurt other people: did that make Hermione's fire spell a dark art, since it could easily be used to kill? He suspected that neither of these definitions was accurate, but he did not know what was the truth.

So, as the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins made their way down to the lower levels, he asked what must have been one of the most foolish questions he had ever asked, which was, "What are the dark arts, anyway?"

"Spells that hurt people, right?" Wayne guessed. Except that elicited snorts of dirision from the Slytherins and looks of skepticism from the Puffs.

Harry pointed out the problem: "Almost any spell can cause harm."

For a moment nobody wanted to volunteer another speculation. Then Zabini, who Harry was surprised was even walking with their group, said his piece. "Any spell can cause harm, but the dark arts always do. That's because the dark arts require sacrifice," he explained. "Most wand magic we do requires nothing but one's own magical power. But the dark arts require something more."

"Do you mean," Justin said, "Like, human sacrifice?"

Zabini sneered, but he deigned to clarify. "That could be it," he said. "Or animal sacrifice – goats, rabbits, cats, and the like. However … usually, it requires sacrifice of the soul."

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine.

"The _soul_?" Hermione repeated. "Souls are _real_?"

Most of the old blooded students stared at her in amazement. Susan said, "Well, of course souls are real. There are ghosts..."

"Right," Hermione said, blushing. "So ... dark wizards have no souls?"

"They still have souls, for the most part," Ernie explained when it didn't seem like Zabini was talking anymore. "But they're damaged. Cracked, pieces missing, scarred, tarnished, twisted – people use different metaphors for it, but it means it's damaged."

"There is magic that destroys the soul entirely," Tracey Davis volunteered quietly. "It would kill you if you used your own soul, of course. It's possible to sacrifice somebody _else_ 's soul, though."

Suddenly Harry saw clearly what he had barely wondered about before. _This_ is why dark witches are feared – not because of their great power, but because they were willing to defile and destroy _souls_ , not to mention sacrifice human lives. Somebody willing to do things like that … there was nothing they _wouldn't_ do for their power. So it wasn't just _because_ of their great power, but also because of _how they got it_ that dark witches were so feared by regular people. They had no ethics at all, nor respect for the law, and were completely ruthless.

"And the soul," Hermione said, "If it's only damaged, does it heal?"

"That would depend on how damaged it is," Zabini revealed. "A few Killing Curses here and there –" and Zabini made eyecontact with Harry as he spoke "– won't cause permanent harm. Even the Aurors used the Killing Curse regularly during the war, and they're not dark wizards. It didn't damage their souls enough to make them truly dark wizards. But after a while, if you go far enough, there's a point of no return, where your soul will remain … _changed_. Real dark wizards can never come back."

The group was silent for a while as each and every one of them tried to understand the implications.

"Jibberwings," Harry said scornfully, breaking the silence. "The Board of Governors-approved curriculum. They should be teaching us about the dark arts." He could not help but look at Draco with disappointment.

Draco at first looked away, then he rapidly regrouped and turned to Harry with a glare. "Not satisfied, are we?" he asked snidely.

"I'm sure if I'm attacked by a jibberwing swarm I'll be glad," Harry said. "But I've already _been_ attacked by a dark wizard."

Apparently nobody there had anything to say to _that_. When they made it to the Entrance Hall and it was time to split up, Harry thought he should try to fix the damage before it festered. So he said, "Draco. Thanks for what you've done."

Draco pinched the corners of his mouth. It was not a smile or a very good imitation of a smile, but it seemed to suggest that he at least thought about smiling. He said, "I tried." Then the he turned with the rest of the Slytherins into the dungeons. Zabini stood at the edge of the corridor and gave Harry a long, expressionless look before he followed the rest of his Housemates.

"Harry," Hermione said suddenly. "Do you fancy a walk?"

Hermione wasn't normally against going on a walk, but she was rarely the one to suggest it. Usually it was Cerie or Wayne or Justin who wanted to get a bit of fresh air during the free period between their last class and dinner. Harry could see that Hermione had something she desperately needed to get off her chest. Her expression was slightly pained, her eyes slightly misty. "Yeah, Hermione," he said. "Let's take a walk."

Outside, there were thick, wooly clouds sitting motionless overhead, like the sky was considering raining but wasn't sure if it could be bothered. They walked out in silence all the way to the Yewring at the edge of the forest, behind the greenhouses, where they sat on some of the large stones that had been placed there. Hermione turned to Harry with a most serious expression which would have set him on edge if he hadn't already been.

"Harry," she said delicately. But she trailed off, biting her lip and looking away.

Harry waited for a while, then he said, "What is it?"

"Harry, I was thinking about what Zabini said, about how all dark magic requires a sacrifice," she said. "And I was thinking about what Professor Quirrell said, about how only dark magic can defend against dark magic."

Harry's brow scrunched up as he tried to figure out where she was going with this.

"It's just that … well, _you_ defended against dark magic, didn't you? When you were a baby, I mean."

Reality seemed to sort of crack right about its middle almost audibly for Harry. His world was a dry stick, her words the knee that broke it. His comprehension was abrupt; his ability to cope with it, nonexistant. "You're suggesting," he said slowly. He blinked rapidly and breathed slowly and tried to come to terms with what she was saying. "I was involved in some kind of dark ritual," he surmised.

Hermione looked to the clouds above hopelessly, plaintively, painfully.

"Do you think my parents did something like that?" Harry asked. "Do you think my parents would do something like that?"

"Please, Harry, don't be upset," she said.

But of course Harry was very upset. Not because what she was saying was insulting, but because it made a lot of sense to him, and that was terrifying. "I'm calm," he said. "Just … let me think."

His parents had both died, and then he had survived the Killing Curse. Everything he knew about magic – still so very little, he had to learn _more_ – suggested that there was only one possible explanation. His mother and father had used their own lives as sacrifices in a dark ritual to save Harry's life.

 _Against the dark arts, there can be no defense other than the dark arts itself_.

If it was true, it might mean that from that moment, Harry's own soul had that tarnish or wound that Ernie had spoken of. He wondered if he had ever healed, or if his soul was still hurt. He wondered if that made him a dark wizard. He wondered if he really cared if he was one, or if he just thought he should care. And his thoughts continued to spiral down that hole for a while longer.

Then he thought about the Madeleine Episode Potion. He had configured the brew to only bring to mind the past seven years – just the childhood, not the infancy. They only wanted memories of the childhood and not the infancy because that was where the embarrassing bits would be – that had been the rationale. But now, looking at it, he wondered if that may not have been the whole truth. Because there was that one memory: the green light with the red eyes. Harry had brewed that potion knowing full well that he would have to test it on himself, first. Perhaps the real reason he had made a potion that only brought up the past seven years and not the infancy was because he had been afraid of going back to that place with the green light and the red eyes, which he now understood to be the scene of his parents' murder – or perhaps not their murder, perhaps it was their sacrifice.

He could make another potion that would tell him unequivocally what had happened on that night. Although he had been far too young at the time to understand, and it was so long ago that he could not clearly remember, his potion addressed both of those issues.

He wondered if he wanted to know.

"I think," Hermione said tentatively. "I think that if they sacrificed their _own_ lives, it's different. It must be different."

Harry just frowned, though. "I wonder if that's true," he said.

A thin drizzle started coming down. Harry wasn't bothered by it. Hermione looked up at the sky again, letting the minuscule droplets fall onto her face. She said, "You remember what Neville said last weekend?"

Wondering if he was supposed to know what she was talking about, Harry just shook his head.

"Legilimency," she explained. "Mind reading. I've been a bit nervous ever since he told us about that, you know. Would you like to go to the library?"

In the bottom floor of the library there was a section called ESOTERICA, and within that section they found a tiny subsection called ARTES MENTIUM. The mind magics. There were only thirteen volumes on the subject, most of which looked quite old. Harry selected the newest-looking book, which was titled _Psychomancy: Endeavors Within_. Its inner cover said that it had been written by Walter R. Y. Foily in 1967 and published by the Clifter Publishing House of Dewy Doddington, Lincolnshire. Someone had also written in the following words: _Delving deeply, bring a rope_.

"I like the looks of this one," Harry said, and the pair sat down on the floor to look it over.

Its contents were not that of a grimoire, but of an overview: it did not indicate how the magics were performed, it only explained what they were, how to recognize them, and (vaguely) how they worked. Since Harry knew from Neville that it was prohibited to publish a book that actually taught legilimency, he reasoned that something like this was the best he could hope to find on mind magic.

What it had to say was shocking and alarming.

There were two main types of mind magic. The first was areal-effect mind magic: things like Notice-Me-Not Charms, or Amelia Bones's Why-Try Charm, or the Just-Humor-Me Charm on Becca Albright's house in London. Such spells acted on either all sentient minds near the object on which they were cast, or a targeted subset of sentient minds (most commonly, working only on muggles). The effects of such spells were highly mutable: even a very powerful Notice-Me-Not Charm would have no effect on a well-prepared wizard, who should be able to detect its influence on his mind and throw it off. These charms were considered vital magic for the maintenance of the Statue of Secrecy: the basic Notice-Me-Not was part of the NEWT Charms standard and was required on any property or large device which was obviously magical.

The second type of mind magic was far more dangerous. These were the targeted mind magics, which in their most potent forms only highly skilled witches could defend against. They included things like potions – love potions, Harry's Madeleine Episode Potion and other memory-manipulating potions, as well as truth potions and more. Even more dangerously, they also included a set of charms: besides legilimency, there were also compulsion charms, memory charms and, perhaps most dangerously of all, the Imperius Curse that Lucius Malfoy had been placed under during the war, which controlled his mind so thoroughly that he could be compelled to commit murder and treason.

Harry could not help but wonder if he had ever personally been subjected to legilimency or compulsions or memory charms or any of the other types of mind magic the book discussed. There was no way to be certain. When he voiced these concerns, Hermione said, "You mean other than what you did to yourself with those potions?"

"You know," Harry said, "When I was talking with Professor Snape yesterday, I had the strangest sensation. It was like he was trying to tell if I was lying just by looking into my eyes."

"It _did_ say that some skilled legilimens are able to do it without a wand," Hermione said uncomfortably. "Professor Snape … he seems like the type, doesn't he?"

"I guess it's fortunate that I wasn't lying," Harry said with a scowl. "God! – knowing that this psychomancy exists is enough to make you paranoid."

"It's a good reason to be paranoid, you mean," Hermione said. "The idea that some legilimens can do it without a wand is pretty nerve-wracking. Still, we can't be sure that Professor Snape used legilimency. He may have just been trying to tell if you were lying by the look of your eyes."

 _Psychomancy: Endeavors Within_ also, fortunately, mentioned the countermeasure: occlumency. Occlumency, while not a core magic taught at Hogwarts or most other schools in Britain, was considered a vital component to any old blood's education.

"Why only old bloods?" Hermione said, offended. "Muggleborns have secrets, too."

"Not _state_ secrets," Harry pointed out. "Only old bloods are privy to information that could put a lot of people in danger."

Hermione scowled. "More likely, they don't _want_ muggleborns to have any secrets."

"This is making us _both_ paranoid, isn't it?"

Occlumens, practitioners of the art, were able to protect their minds from many kinds of outside influences. Even a wizard or witch with only a passing knowledge of the art could overcome most Notice-Me-Not Charms and minor love potions. More skilled occlumens could ward off legilimency, compulsion charms, the Imperius Curse and the effects of alcohol and other narcotics. The most skilled occlumens were reported as being able to recover memories lost by Memory Charm as well as resist against Amortentia, the most powerful love potion. Some anecdotal evidence suggested that the greatest masters may even be able to resist Veritaserum, the most potent truth potion.

According to _Psychomancy: Endeavors Within_ , besides allowing the occlumens to resist most kinds of mind magic, and completely nullifying some, occlumency also had additional benefits.

"It gets better?" Harry said, impressed. "This magic is ridiculous."

The occlumens is trained to have a compartmentalized, well-organized mind; a mind, in short, that performed more efficiently than an untrained mind. Memories could be retrieved more readily and accurately. Thoughts were both swifter and tended towards greater logicality. Occlumens were less affected by their emotions than non-occlumens, which meant that the side effects of a well-organized mind were even more apparent in situations in which most people would become emotional, such as during a heated argument or when in danger. Their control over their emotions also allowed them to deal with negative feelings like grief and depression much better by putting such negative feelings away.

"Meaning, they can bottle their emotions up better," Hermione extrapolated. "That can't possibly be healthy."

Occlumens were also able to visualize the desired effects of their magic better, which made the occlumens _do magic better_ than non-occlumens. Some anecdotal evidence suggested that they were better at mathematics, better at precise writing, they were even better at composing music.

"It seems there's nothing occlumency can't do," Harry summarized.

"We'll have to make some time for it," Hermione said, consulting her school schedule. "Perhaps Wednesday and Sunday afternoons."

"We'll have to get some resources," Harry pointed out.

"It says that legilimency is prohibited, but it doesn't say anything about occlumency," Hermione said. "There may be some books on it in the Restricted Section upstairs."

"I think we should see if the bookshop has any," Harry said. "If we ask a teacher for access to the Restricted Section, they'll want to know why we're so keen on protecting our minds: not that our reasons are invalid, but I don't really want to have to explain. And besides, we'll have to keep renewing the books, which might be hard for Restricted Section books."

"Whatever it takes," Hermione said with determination. "We'll get the right books."

Harry had his own private thoughts about occlumency which he did not feel he could share with his friend.

He had long since realized that his mind worked a bit differently than other people's minds: there were things that he could do that other people could not do, could not even understand. Now that Harry knew about occlumency, he wondered if he had been doing it all along for years, and just calling it 'mental programming' instead. After all, many of the side benefits mentioned in Walter R. Y. Foily's description of the art were things that he already did to one degree or another, and many of the other mental tricks he could do seemed like they might just be taking those side benefits one step further. Then there was the fact that it _did_ seem like his mind had some measure of defense against mind magic: he had been able to ignore Amelia Bones' Why-Try Charm well enough to carve out an entire potions lab.

Was it all occlumency? – accidental mind magic, not so different from the accidental transfiguration he had done on that scary spider in the shower years ago when he turned it into water? Was it his magic that had helped him organize his knowledge and his logical process in order to be more efficient? Was it because of his magic that he was able to do the things he was able to do?

His BrewPotion mental program was a fine example. Harry was well aware that it was quite abnormal to be able to program one's own mind. He was able to actively, intentionally restructure the workings of his mind in order to make certain mental tasks easier – to reduce a complicated logical process to a single 'executable' thought-algorithm. It was almost a kind of brainwashing, except that he was doing it to himself in order to help himself. It seemed to him that it was very likely that this was a form of occlumency – perhaps a new form that nobody else was practicing – if, in fact, it was magic at all, and not just mental trickery, a practical application of neuroplasticity, as he had assumed before learning about occlumency.

He wondered: if all of this was occlumency, or a form of mind magic, did that mean that if he should master legilimency, he would be able to write mental programs into other people's minds, too?

A part of him hoped not. It was a disturbing amount of power to wield.

Whether or not he had already been doing occlumency, however, Harry could see that he _needed_ to be doing it. He had too many secrets and too many enemies to let his mind be an open book. If what he could do really _was_ occlumency, it wasn't good enough yet. It had taken a lot of effort to overcome Our Lady the Saint of Mischief's Why-Try Charm, so it seemed that if someone targeted him with a powerful legilimency attack, he would certainly be helpless with what meager shields he may or may not already have.

Without knowing for sure if he was doing mind magic at all, or if it really was just mental trickery, Harry was left with a host of unanswerables.

"Hermione," Harry said carefully. "You know, that broom of mine. I bought it last Saturday in Diagon Alley."

Hermione nodded. "Before the Slytherin try outs," she said.

Somehow, Harry wasn't particularly shocked that she had put it together. It was rather pointless, he was beginning to realize, to try to get something by Hermione Granger. Or at least, if he wanted to hide something from her, he would need to do a much better job of covering it up. "Thanks," he said. "For not asking me about it, or telling anyone."

Hermione shrugged. "I'm a Hufflepuff," she said. It was all the explanation required.

"I sneaked out of the castle on Saturday. And I think that's exactly what we should do this weekend, to get the occlumency books."

"Why not just mail order them?" she asked.

"Well, first of all, that takes time. Time we can't waste waiting around. But also … I've been suspecting someone has been looking at my post."

Rather than ask him why he might think that, Hermione thought it over herself, and she realized: "The fan mail. Where's the fan mail?"

"Exactly," Harry said. "Not to be immodest, but I've been wondering about that ever since I realized I was a legend in this world. Shouldn't people be trying to send me letters? In the muggle world I get tons of post. So I think someone's been stealing my post. I might just be paranoid, of course. There might be a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. However, if somone really is stealing my mail, I don't want whoever is doing it to know that I'm starting to _get_ paranoid. Anyway, even if I am paranoid, I don't think realizing you're paranoid is any good reason to stop being cautious."

Hermione could only shake her head and say, "The sad part is, you probably aren't nearly paranoid enough."

"How do you mean?"

"Post theft is a serious crime," Hermione said. "If someone is stealing your post, they could go to Azkaban for a long time. It's also quite difficult to do, since owls are so clever and are protected by magic. Anyone who's willing and able to do that, they're probably a professional criminal." Her face was extremely pained. "Nothing with you is simple, you know that? Harry, you may want to contact Susan's aunt about it – of course, not by owl... Do you have any idea who it could be?"

"One name springs to mind," Harry said. "But I don't have any evidence. You're right, I should let the authorities look into it."

"There are things at work," Hermione summarized after a moment of silence. "We should ask Susan if she has a secure way of contacting her aunt."

"There's the possibility that the Ministry is responsible," Harry said. "If they're the ones tampering with my mail, it might not even be illegal."

"That's true," Hermione said. "But if the Ministry is doing it, Amelia Bones should be able to tell you that."

"And if the Ministry isn't responsible, maybe they can tell me who is."

As it turned out, Susan did have a good way of getting into contact with her aunt. Amelia Bones, as it turned out, was quite worried about her dear great neice's safety, and of course wouldn't allow owls to be the only means of getting in touch. So she had enchanted a pair of lockets to serve as communications devices. When one of the lockets was opened, the other one started wiggling around until it got attention. Then when both were open, the little mirrors in them served as a scrying glass, allowing communications over long distances. Similar devices had evidently been used by Aurors during the war.

Susan and Hermione, knowing that there was one place in Hufflepuff where they were bound to have privacy, escorted Harry into their dorm suite after dinner.

"Are you sure I should be here?" Harry said nervously, looking around.

"It's all right," Susan said. "There's no rules against visiting another suite."

"But this is a _girls_ ' suite," Harry said.

Susan just laughed. "You sound like a Fendor boy," she said, patting his back. "Just sit down. That's my bed there."

So the three of them all sat down on Susan's bed and Susan retrieved the locket from inside her robes and shirt. She snapped it open and they all waited.

After a while, a little voice said, "Susy?" The voice had a tinny quality to it due to the charms, but somehow it seemed to Harry that in real life Amelia Bones's voice must be very deep. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, hello Aunt Amy. Everything is all right." Susan glanced over at Harry, then she said, "I wanted to introduce you to a friend of mine."

"Oh, Susy. I'd love to meet your friend of course, but isn't this a bit impersonal?"

"Well, the thing is, he needs to report a crime. Or rather, a suspected crime."

"A suspected crime?" the little voice repeated. Suddenly the tone of Our Lady the Saint of Mischief's voice was extremely serious. "Whatever do you mean, Susy?"

"My friend suspects that somebody may be intercepting his mail," Susan said. "It's Harry Potter."

The little voice was silent for a moment. Then it said, "Let me speak to him."

Susan handed the locket over to Harry, who took it with some nervousness. The little face he saw in it was very serious indeed. Wearing what could only be official robes, and donning a rather elegant monocle, Amelia Bones stared at Harry intently, waiting for him to speak first. "Madam Bones," he said. "It's an honor to meet you. I've heard all about you from Susan, and others."

"Likewise," she said. "Now. You suspect that someone has been interfering with your post?"

Harry nodded. He took a moment to collect himself so that he could state his case as clearly as possible. Then he said, "Yes. I'm sorry for contacting you through unofficial channels, but I suspected it might not be advisable to rely on the owls to report this crime, considering what the crime is. Throughout my entire life, I've received only three letters by owl: my Hogwarts letter and a couple packages I ordered from shops in Diagon Alley. Now, to me, this seems incredibly strange, considering who I am."

"Yes," Amelia Bones said. "However, it would explain quite a bit. The Ministry has made several attempts to communicate with you over the years. As have many private citizens. Even Susy here … well, she was a bit put out when you never returned that letter she sent you, two years ago."

"Aunt Amy!" Susan exclaimed. "Really, is that relevant?"

"I think it is," Amelia said. "It is damaging to Mr. Potter's reputation, you see. Everyone must think you're terribly rude, Mr. Potter."

Harry frowned. He said, "Madam, in the muggle world I received mail from well-wishers and fans all the time. I did my best to reply in a timely manner. I would never deliberately ignore someone who's just trying to be nice."

"Yes. Well, Mr. Potter, you may rest assured that the DMLE will be looking into this matter. Now, would you like to make this a formal complaint, or would you prefer to wait for the results of our investigation?"

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "What would you recommend?"

"Well," she said. "If you do lodge a formal complaint, it will be put in the records. This may allow whosoever is doing this to cover their tracks, or at the very least the time to come up with a compelling excuse. On the other hand, it will allow us to get the warrants we require to pursue the matter with all possible diligence."

"I see," Harry said, although he wasn't sure. He looked to Hermione for her opinion, and she shook her head – not to say _no_ , but to say _I don't know_. Harry frowned, but came to a decision. "Madam, I would like to hold off on making any formal complaint for now. However, if evidence against him is uncovered, I would like to make the formal complaint at that time in order to enable the investigation to go unimpeded."

"Him?" Amelia repeated. "So you do have a suspect? Please don't hold back, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded, although he was unsure if he really wanted to say it. Finally, he said, "I do have one suspect, although I don't have any evidence, Madam. I think it might be Albus Dumbledore."

* * *

Thank you for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

The Tinkerer

Chapter 12

When Amelia Bones heard that Harry's primary suspect was none other than Albus Dumbledore, she insisted that he come at his earliest convenience to the Ministry of Magic to have a word with her. Since he and Hermione were already planning to sneak out of Hogwarts in order to pick up some books on occlumency, naturally they arranged to have a meeting with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement while they happened to be out.

So, Saturday morning, after arranging for Ernie and Susan to cover for them in case anyone asked any questions, and they made their way to London via Professor Sprout's personal floo. Of course, they couldn't use Becca Albright's house as the destination, but fortunately Amelia Bones was quite happy to pull a string or two to have Harry's house be connected with the floo network posthaste.

Around seven-thirty, they appeared in the fine little study in Harry's house at 13 Fitzjohn's Avenue. Both were wearing the only muggle clothing they had brought to Hogwarts, the same outfits they had worn to Platform 9 ¾, while each carried a set of nice robes in their bags, Hermione having borrowed a set from Susan.

"You have a lovely house," was Hermione's first impression as she looked around.

The ground floor study had been redecorated since Harry had last been there. Now, the walls were painted a rather solemn shade of gray-blue, with fine black-stained furniture, including bookcases that had been stocked with expensive looking editions that had not been read, and a large and fine bureau with a tall-backed chair. To judge by the papers Harry skimmed through on the bureau, it seemed that the room was being used by Vernon for work.

"I've barely ever been in this room," Harry said. "There's another little study upstairs that Dudley and I use. Well, I use it, anyway."

"Is this the only fireplace in the house?" Hermione asked.

"No. There's a fireplace in the parlor, too, but I suppose Madam Bones decided that it would be better to use this one, since it's more private."

Harry had been interested in seeing his relatives again, but after a quick peek into the kitchen, where he expected to see them all having breakfast (his relatives not being prone to lie-ins, even on Saturday), it seemed like nobody was home.

"Where's your family?" Hermione inquired.

"Probably at the West Norwood house," Harry said. "It's closer to Dudley's school and Vernon's work, so I think they mostly live there, now."

"You have a house in West Norwood, too?" she asked incredulously.

"We have several houses," Harry said. "Just the two here in the metropolis. The Norwood house is considerably smaller, but it's very nice and it's convenient for them. Dudley is attending Dulwich College, and Vernon works in Surrey, so it's quite a bit closer. Then we have a place in Majorca and a place in Nîmes. We were negotiating one in Saratoga, but I'm not sure if that's gone through yet. Then my uncle still owns the old house in Little Whinging, too. We're renting it out to a couple in their late twenties. Nice, calm people, no children yet so they're not likely to damage anything. The husband works in an office just down the road from Grunnings, and the wife expressed an interest in maintaining the award-winning garden. You can imagine how happy my aunt was."

"Why so many properties?"

"Well, my uncle believes that real estate is always a sound investment. He's always saying, 'Come as it may the next Flood, prices will always be going up! Land, land, land, boy: the only thing you can believe in is land!' –" (and Harry had to privately commend himself on his wonderful Vernon impression) "– The only problem is that you have to buy properties where the market will increase fast enough. Anyway, he trusts land more than he trusts banks. Vernon's a bit old-fashioned in some ways. My only stocks are in Microsoft."

"And all of this, it was bought with your money?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "I say 'we' because it's my family, but I own all of it. Technically speaking, I even own the cars they drive. I probably own their pants. And I'm paying for Dudley's school. But I really can't be bothered with money, so I let Vernon deal with it. He's been buying a lot of real estate, but he's incredibly frugal about it. He's a clever businessman, and he keeps careful accounts of everything."

Hermione could only shake her head in amazement. Then she said, "Well. Let's be going, then?"

So they walked down Fitzjohn's towards Swiss Cottage Station. Once they were in the little commercial area there, Harry said, "Did you want breakfast? There's a nice little place here."

"I'm not really hungry," Hermione said. So they went down to the underground and boarded the next Jubilee train towards the city. At Baker Street Station, they transferred to the Bakerloo line which would take them the rest of the way to Charing Cross Station.

"You really know your way around the tube," Hermione commented as they came out from the Underground.

"I was taking this route every other day over the summer," Harry commented. "As you know."

"Right," she said. "You know, you don't seem so cosmopolitan. It's easy to forget that London is your playground."

"That seems offensive," Harry said, although he was grinning.

"It's just … well, I was going to say you're so modest, but you really aren't. But you don't brag, either."

"There's nothing to brag about," Harry said. "I got a lucky break one time and came into some money. That's all."

"You did earn it," Hermione said. She rendered him a fond, perhaps proud smile, and she went on, "You work hard at everything you do."

"I suppose," he said. "But what I did do, it's nothing you couldn't do, you know? I just put all of my attention on one thing for two years, and I made something worth selling. I didn't do it for the money, though: I just did it because it held my attention for two years."

"I think I should make some time in my own schedule to learn about computers," Hermione said. "It's something I don't know anything about at all."

"Computers are fun," Harry said, but there was a hesitance in his voice. When he continued, it was in a whisper, since they were in a crowded area. "Computers are great … but Hermione, magic is better."

"Are you really all right with not having computers?" she asked. "I mean, when you found out that Hogwarts didn't have any electricity, it seemed like you were really upset."

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, but it felt like someone was squeezing on his guts. "The thing is," he said, "There's no reason why there shouldn't be computers without electricity."

"What do you mean?"

" _The magical abacus_ ," he said with a great deal of enthusiasm.

In his rather thorough background reading about the subject of enchanting, Harry had learned a great deal, and a great number of small and large ideas had begun to formulate in his mind.

Echanted objects, as he knew, required two things. The first was a control structure, which indicated just what the magic should do, and which often took the form of an array of runes, although there were many other ways to do so. An enchanted robe, for example, would most likely have the control structure as part of the very weave of the fabric, which would give the material a nice design in addition to the enchantment. This control structure acted not unlike a computer program, and had similar constraints: it must consist of a sort of algorithm to control the flow of the magic, so as to produce the required effect (aided of course by the intent of the enchantment's caster, as well as the intent of the one who uses the object) and it must also generally be as small as possible, so as to keep the object down to a manageable size.

The second requirement for any enchanted object, of course, was a source of magic. This may be any kind of container capable of containing a bit of a magical charge, or it may be a material through which the object's user may channel their own magic as required, or both.

As an example of the first kind, that being of an object which held its own sort of _magic battery_ (sometimes called simply a 'power cell' or sometimes more specifically a 'gem of power' or the like), many kinds of magical lamps would have a gem or an etched array of runes on silver or obsidium or some other material, generally placed under the light-emiting crystal, which would draw on the ambient magic of the environment in order to recharge itself, then distill the magic through the control structures as required by the lamp. Thus, the lamp could effectively cast a charm of illumination without the need to draw on any of the witch or wizard's own magic, drawing and storing its own adequate supply thereof.

An example of the second kind, an object which did not store a large amount of magic but drew upon the magic of the user to hold it, might be a broomstick. Broomsticks, like that lamp, may sometimes contained a small gem of power embedded within their shafts, which worked only to power anti-theft enchantments and other spells that needed to work while the user was away; however, for the actual power of flight, they drew upon the magic of the user as needed at the time in which it is needed, and channeled that magic through the control structure, which, for modern brooms, was generally an array of runes hidden cleverly within the shaft itself. (Of course, it was also possible to etch them on the outside, but clever broomstickmakers had figured out that by carving them on the inside of the shaft they could protect their company secrets, as well as protect the broom from being rendered unrideable by a simple scratch. Just how this was done, Harry did not know.) This control structure, manipulated by the intent of the broom's rider, channeled that rider's magic into the spells needed to create lift, steer, brake, and so on, as required.

Now, just knowing the basic requirements of any enchanted objects, a boy such as Harry could see much of the potential as well as the limitations of the field. For example, he could see that it would be possible to use a power cell to make a sort of pseudo-wand usable by muggles and squibs: indeed, squibs often had magical artifacts in their homes, and historically the muggle nobility had as well. Such objects were limited in what they could do, however: control structures for objects intended for witches often did not quite cover every possible contingency, for the complexity of the structure was limited by the size of the object – therefore, they relied upon the user of the object to do a bit of control as well, using their intent as a sort of secondary control structure. An object intended for a muggle or squib, on the other hand – this pseudo-wand, for example – would have no witch's intent to bolster the control structure. Furthermore, if one assumes that the muggle who uses such a device lives in a muggle environment, in such a magically-poor environment the power cell would deplete itself much more quickly and recharge much more slowly than it would in a more magical environment.

Those constraints being what they were, they did not prevent squibs of today from putting foe-glasses in their homes, nor did they prevent the muggle kings of old from wielding enchanted swords and the like. Indeed, the Museum of Magical History in London was said to be replete with old swords and bows and so forth, which had been 'recovered' from the descendants of those muggle kings and dukes and such who wielded them in times of old, safely stolen away as required by the International Statute of Secrecy – the good old Excallibur having a seat of particular prominence within the museum, its spells still working quite well to this day.

Extraordinarily useful were those old weapons to their muggle wielders. While the Excalibur's limited supply of magic and rather minute control structure enabled it to only make a puff of fire or a flash of light a few times per day, the rest of the time there was quite enough magic to keep it always surgically sharp and very impressive-looking, a sword fit for the unifier of kingdoms. And of course the effect of those few puffs of fire was very awe-inspiring for the muggle soldiers, a great boon to their morale if not particularly devastating to the enemy.

Of course, with the policy of secrecy, it was frowned upon (and highly illegal) to give an enchanted sword to a muggle king today. Similarly, Harry would find himself in quite a legal bind if he, for example, armed Dudley with a pseudo-wand that could shoot a jet of fire once or twice a day. Still, the interesting thing was that it could be done.

Enchanted objects could perform any kind of magic done with a wand. At least in principle. The problem was that it became grossly inefficient as more complicated control structures were called for. While a wand-user might find it easier to clean an oven than create a great column of fire, as an example, the opposite might be true for an enchanted object which was intended for muggle use, and thus had no witch's intent to bolster the control structure. This was because something like an oven-cleaning charm, although requiring very little magic, was mentally quite complex: the charm needed to be able to react to whatever kind of filth it encountered and act accordingly. Without a human mind connected to the wand, this became extraordinarily difficult, and would require such a control structure that could account for any kind of thing that might find itself in a dirty oven. On the other hand, while a great column of fire required quite a bit of magic, it required negligible control structure – just something to say _make fire_ , and then something to say _make it cylindrical._ While it was in principle possible to overcome the control requirement of something like an oven-cleaning charm by making a very complicated control structure, there was little point in doing so since such a control structure would probably never be as good as a human mind, would certainly be far less portable than a wand, and, importantly, would require a lot of magic to power it. So much, in fact, that in the end such an object would probably require more power than the object that made a column of fire.

That was precisely why broomsticks were so impressive. Broomstickmakers were masters of making control structures as simple as possible, knowing precisely just what they can rely on the rider to do. Then the control structure would be made as physically small as possible, and finally of course it would be hidden inside the broom so that it would be protected from damage and kept secret. Now, if one were to try and make a broomstick capable of being used by a muggle, they would find the power cell and control structure requirements to be entirely impracticle: in the end, the device would be around the size of a Cessna aircraft, and considerably more prone to sudden fatal failure. Better by far just to have your muggle friend sit behind you on your broom – or find her own passage!

Perhaps it was just because he was an eleven-year-old boy that Harry's mind was rather keen on the concept of enchanted weapons, or more broadly the military applications of enchanted objects. While the enchanted swords and bows of old were certainly quite effective, and quite interesting for someone like Harry who had made a computer game that included similar weapons, he found himself rather more interested in the possibility of an enchanted gun – or cannon, for that matter. He thought that his pseudo-wand idea would be cooler as a gun-like object which fired, say, a fire spell or a cutting spell. The interesting thing about his concept wand-gun was that he had in his mind the concept of swappable power cells: one of the main limiting factors for enchanting an object for muggle use being the bulky size and limited capacity of power cells, why not just simply create such an object where the power cells could be swapped out when depleted? Harry believed that he could design such a wand-gun where, after depleting the power cell by firing off half a dozen fire or cutting spells, the power cell could just simply be swapped for a fresh one, and the wand-gun wielder continue along, not unlike the swappable magazines used by purely muggle guns. Such a weapon would be pretty useless, of course, since it would be less effective than either a muggle gun or a wand. But the interesting thing was that it could be done – and was not, in fact, very difficult to do, at least in principle.

Harry thought that it might be rather more effective to look not at magic guns but at magic bullets. A few little runes on the bullet could make it considerably more lethal by hardening it, by increasing its weight after it's left the barrel, or by simply giving it a bit of extra cutting action.

A homing bullet was quite another thing. For that, it would probably be best to make a special magic bullet meant to be fired from a special magic gun. The rather more complicated bit would be part of the gun: using a modified version of the terribly simple Point Me Charm, one could make a gun which always pointed precisely at the heart or head of the intended target by saying, for example, "Target Lock Harry Potter." The bullet, on the other hand, would have just a few runes which held the intent of the Target Lock enchantment, such that if the target should move, the bullet would continue to point at it. By making the bullet enchantment only sort of carry over the effects of the gun enchantment, one would significantly reduce the complexity of the enchantment on each bullet, and one would be able to use a power cell embedded in the gun, rather than in each bullet, to power the thing. Then of course one would just have to squeeze in a little enchantment on each bullet that caused the bullet always to fly in the direction it was pointed in (rather than just flying straight while pointing at the target) – a terribly simple thing to derive by modifying broomstick enchantments, Harry thought. Thusly enchanted to fly in the direction of its pointing, and having transferred the pointing from the enchantment on the gun, the bullet would always point at and go towards the target. Being so simple, it would require minimal control structures – just a dozen or so runes per bullet, or perhaps even just three or four oracle bone characters. And, being one-time use, the bullet itself wouldn't need a power storage gem, but could be empowered at the time of firing by the gem set into the gun. In other words, it could be done quite compactly and quite cheaply.

Not that he really had any intention of making weapons of war for the muggles. It was just something which seemed to captivate his interest in engineering. The interesting thing wasn't to see its devastating effects on the muggle battlefield, but just to know that it could be done.

Now, one of the things about enchanting which Harry found most fascinating was that the process was so very scalable. In the example of the magical bullet above, it might seem that it would be terribly dull work to etch even a few runes on potentially thousands of bullets. However, wonderfully enough, it was possible to enchanted the etching knives themselves, such that they would do most of the work automatically, and as long as the work was sufficiently repetitive that it could be accomplished entirely by enchanted etching knives, there was no reason not to simply set things up, retire for the evening, and come back in the morning to sort out the thousands of bullets or whatever you've created. Similarly, of course, the environment-control enchantments which were ubiquitous to wizarding robes were not done by hand at all, but rather were done by specially enchanted looms or knitting needles.

This process of automation, Harry surmised, was how the Swiftly Flight Company was able to mass produce their Nimbus 2000's, while Bartleby Brooms could only make a few dozen or so a week: not only did Swiftly employ far more enchanters, but they also had access to better automation. Bartleby Brooms, being a small and young company, did not employ enchanters whose only job was to make the tools to make the brooms. The employment of these skilled enchanting tool-enchanters were the real secret to making the enchanting process streamlined and efficient.

This line of thinking had given Harry what he thought was a rather good business idea. As far as he knew, there was no company that specialized in making programmable enchanting tools. Rather, each broomstick and self-stirring cauldron manufacturer, and so on, made their own tools in house. Harry rather thought that if he made enchanted tools which made other, programmable enchanted tools, he could make a pretty nice pile of gold – and possibly reduce the market price of high end enchanted goods across the board, which would be great for consumers. The main difficulty was in figuring out how to make them programmable, and doing so in such a way as to make them sufficiently easier to use than just enchanting your own tools as to be useful for a large company. While Harry didn't have the skills required to pull it of _yet_ , he thought that eventually he would. It was an idea to remember and explore at a later date.

While weapons and programmable tools were certainly ideas that tickled his fancy, and things that he thought he might explore in the future, there was another idea that really held his attention: the magical abacus. It was this terribly important tool which Harry had decided to make the purchase of during the present trip to Diagon Alley.

Magical abacuses had been around since ancient times. They were cheap and easy to make and were indispensably useful for any business owner, government official, banker, or anyone else who had to routinely crunch numbers. Modern magical abaci were really quite clever little devices, too. Rather than having the user move the beads around by hand, a magical abacus responded to voice commands and the beads moved themselves. This meant that user only had to be able to read the output of the operation. And with the most recent advancements in magical abacus design, many models also included little number flippers that allowed the output to be read as a decimal, further reducing the amount of mental effort required. Since it was not required for the user to physically manipulate the beads, they could be made incredibly small: a modern magical abacus with a twelve digit 'display' could be as small as a pack of cigarettes.

Now, any wizard off Diagon Alley could tell you that the magical abacus is one of the handiest enchanted devices around. But to Harry, the magical abacus was just one step in the right direction. The possibilities made him perfectly giddy. If his brain was compared to a muggle sports car, it could be said that it was going at 150 miles per hour down a perfectly paved motorway and purring like a kitten getting its chin rubbed as Harry considered the possibilities.

The magical abacus, after all, was essentially a primitive computer.

Well, really, it was a calculator, but the point remained. Harry believed that the magical abacus was the most logical basis upon which to design any potential magical computer.

"The magical abacus?" Hermione repeated. "I read about them in _Towards_ ," she said, referring of course to one of their enchanting books, which was called _Towards a New Comprehension of Enchanting_. "Dead useful devices."

"We'll be buying a few of them today, I think," Harry said. "Magical abaci are the beginning. Abacuses?"

"I think you can say either," Hermione said with a laugh.

"Anyway, I've got some rather interesting experiments planned, but I need a few abacuses to work with. But the bookshop is the only shop on the Alley open this early," he added with apparent long-suffering.

So the pair went into the bookshop and sat down at the little cafe in the back for a strong tea and a scone. "We have a few things to do," Harry said, not to remind her but to organize his own thoughts. "We should buy those occlumency books, buy a few abaci, of course our meeting with Amelia Bones, and then is there anything you need?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't need anything," she said.

Harry frowned at her. "Hermione," he said. "What good is it to have a friend who has more gold than is good for him, if you don't say what you want? Besides, I won't be able to sneak off again for your birthday, so please."

She tried to laugh, but it came out a bit constricted. She said, "I appreciate it, Harry, but the only thing I really want are the books we're already here to get."

"Oh, don't be like that," he said. "I'm bad at shopping for gifts already, so don't be hard to shop for. You'll do me in like that."

"It's not necessary," she said firmly. "So please."

Harry suddenly saw the problem, and was amazed he hadn't seen it sooner. Of course, after talking casually about his many expensive properties, Hermione was feeling that double intimidation of having a rich friend: on the one hand, you're shocked by what they have, and on the other hand, you're hesitant to ask for anything from them because you don't want it to seem like that's why you're friends. It was something he had seen in novels a few times. The problem was that Harry was not entirely used to being so incredibly wealthy, so it had not occurred to him how it would affect her to hear him list all the properties he owned and offer to buy her something. He felt like a complete berk. At least he hadn't gone and bought her diamonds like in the novels.

"Hermione," he said cautiously. "You know, I meant what I said earlier. What I did is nothing you can't do. I'm sure that in a few years you will be in the same position as I am now."

She showed her large, white teeth to him with her grin. "You know, when you're trying to be sweet, you're at your worst," she said.

"Probably because I wasn't trying to be sweet." His voice tumbled out heavily like a top-heavy pile of stones. "You know how I see you, Hermione."

"No," she said. "I don't."

"You're my best friend," he said thickly, stretching out his hand to rest awkwardly on hers on the table. He felt so incredibly awkward. He wondered if he was not making things worse – yet half of his point was already made, so he had to continue. "But also, I think you're my best asset. We're going to change the world, aren't we?"

Her smile was small, but her eyes sparkled. She said, "Yes. Yes, I suppose we will." Hesitantly, she turned her hand over and clasped his.

"Not that there's much choice," he added. "This world needs some tinkering."

Her eyes still squinting with emotion, her little smile turned into a grin, and, recalling Harry's words on the Hogwarts Express, she said, "Not by revolution, but slowly, so that we keep all the good things and only throw out the bad. That wasn't just a theory, was it?"

"I've always been one to try to fix broken things instead of make a new one," he said meaningfully. "But it _is_ just a theory – until we do it."

"Ever the man of science," she commented with a laugh. "Still, the science of social engineering is notoriously fraught with peril."

They had perused the mail-order catalog the night before, so they already roughly knew which books they would be needing. They took some time to skim them over before making their final decisions, and then made their purchase. Oswald, flamboyantly dressed but living up to his claim to be one who is discreet, did not comment on their purchase of several books on occlumency, nor did he make any indication that he knew who Harry was or that he knew he shouldn't be in London just then. Harry, who hadn't taken his claims of discretion very seriously, was suitably impressed. Oswald did, however, favor them with a wink that seemed to say, _I've already forgotten about this_.

"Oswald," Harry said before they left. "I was wondering. I'm trying to purchase a magical abacus – do you know where I could find one?"

"Of course, _young man_ ," he said, emphasizing his deliberate not-saying of Harry's name. "Just down to the left there's a shop called Watkyn's Whatsits. That's the place to go, I think."

The whatsits shop specialized in all manner of things magical that other shops did not specialize in: ranging from dictation quills that could match the user's handwriting, to a rather bizarre vaguely agricultural-looking contraption whose literature said it was a kind of magical lawnmower that intelligently dug up gnome burrows, to mirror-communicators like Susan and Amelia Bones had. As for magical abaci, they had several kinds. The smallest was about the dimensions of a business card, while the largest was the size of an electric keyboard. All had similar enchantments, which allowed the user to simply say the mathematical function they wanted to perform, and the beads of the abacus would automatically move accordingly. As the literature suggested, some models were equipped with little number flippers not unlike speedometers, which gave the output of the verbal command in the form of a decimal. Others still would simply tell you. All in the shop were capable of basic addition, subtraction, multiplication and division, most having a grasp of the intricacies of wizarding currency, while some of the finer ones could do more complicated maths, knowing geometric identities, how to calculate compound interest, and various other specialized functions.

"I see you're interested in abacuses," the proprietor, a slightly graying witch with a certain aura of impropriety, said, coming up to them. The shop had just barely opened, so it was deserted other than the pair. Harry made note that he would really have to stop coming to Diagon Alley in the early morning if he wanted to avoid talking to the eager salespeople that seemed to occupy each shop.

Hermione quite simply said, "We're very interested."

"Do you know," the witch said, "the magical abacus is one of the most ancient enchanted devices still in common use? Of course, it was one of the original items we sold here back when the shop originally opened in 1407, but the story of the abacus is quite older than that. They say that even the ancient Babylonians had their own make, not so very dissimilar from what we still sell here today."

"Fascinating," said Hermione obligingly. Harry could honestly not tell whether or not she really thought it was.

The saleswitch smiled appreciatively. "You know, our society could be said to run on these old bead-bobbers. Why, even the goblins would be perfectly confounded without them!"

"Is that right?" Hermione said. Harry by now was only giving the conversation half an ear as he returned his attention towards studying the abacuses. "Even the goblins use them?"

"Oh, yes. Well, they say it's one of the few wizardly objects that the goblins do in fact use, goblin magic being rather unsuitable unsubtle for creating anything similar."

Harry had decided on a selection of no fewer than a half-dozen abacuses, which, help not being offered by the two witches in attendance, he struggled to carry to the counter.

"Why, some might even say," the saleswitch was saying, "that without goblin reliance upon wizards to create devices critical to their own culture, there would be rather little in the way of stopping them from declaring more wars than they already do!"

Despite not being much of a fan of the goblins himself, Harry had little patience for ill-conceived conspiracy theories of any kind – perhaps, like his appreciation for real estate and his impatience with bureaucrats, another gift from his uncle – so it was with crossed arms and a tapping foot that he waited for the saleswitch to attend to her job of selling him her merchandise.

"Surely, that can't be it!" Hermione exclaimed. Harry held his forehead in his hand, wondering why she had to egg the woman on.

"Oh, my dear!" the woman exclaimed with all the enthusiasm of one who's opinions are enjoying the rare treat of being heard. "Ask any goblin, dear: would it be worth it to baptize your spawnlings in the blood of all wizardkind, if it meant that there would be nobody left to produce these necessary little whatsits? And the goblin will say: well, I suppose that wizardkind can be pardoned for their crimes."

Once the conspiracy theory surrounding the abacus and goblins had come to the point of barely-constrained genocide, even Hermione lost her taste for the conversation and any inclination towards its continuation. "Right," she said. "Well, we'll just be making our purchase, then."

The saleswitch seemed to realize at length that perhaps bathing in blood was not typical fodder for idle shop talk. Composing herself, she said quite calmly, "Of course, I'm only joking." Then, in contradiction to her claim of being in jest, she added in an undertone: "Although there are always many reasons for war."

"Oh," Hermione said, utterly at a lack of words.

The saleswitch, oddly enough, favored adding up their total by pen and paper rather than by abacus. Harry offered the requested number of coins and received and waited as the witch rather ineptly cast the customary Feather-Light charm over their shopping bag before stacking the boxes in it. Feeling rather exhausted by the woman, the pair thanked her and left the shop in a hurry.

"A bit young to be a mad crone, don't you think?" Harry said once they were safely away.

"My, yes. Imagine, saying that kind of thing to casual customers? Children no less! She should be sacked."

It was just then that a goblin walked by them on the road, baring its pointed teeth nastily at everyone it passed. "Although," Harry allowed once they were clear of it, "there may be good reason to keep on guard of them."

As there was still a bit of time before their meeting with Amelia Bones, and as the scone from the bookshop wasn't exactly a square breakfast, they decided to step into the anarchist café Becca had shown Harry the week before. The café turned out to serve a rather lovely lemon and berry torte with which Harry indulged himself, and Hermione's spinach quiche looked quite good, too. After they finished and settled up with a tip, they took their turns ducking into the café's restroom to get their wizarding robes on. Then the pair made their way to the Diagon Alley entrance to the Ministry. The entrance consisted of a simple free-standing white marble archway, remarkable mostly for the fact that the people who walked through it all vanished from sight.

On the other side, they found themselves in a little round-ceilinged hallway appointed with intricately arranged white and green marble tiles. They walked up to the back of a queue of ten or so adults, all of whom were going through some sort of security check before entering the Ministry proper.

The Auror who checked their wands and issued identification badges made no remark about Harry's identity, but seemed to have been informed to expect them because he gave directions to Madam Bones's office.

Following his directions, they went into a very busy lift and rode it down to level two. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was already a storm of presumably organized bureaucratic activity, even at the early hour. People everywhere, in cubicles or just in the walkway, were shouting a hundred loud, important conversations while overhead little charmed paper airplanes zipped all around the ceiling. Feeling rather small in that crowd of agitated Aurors, the two slipped by them all, making a concerted effort to avoid being trampled by the frantic maroon-clad lawmen. They made their way to the back of the massive room, where there were a number of mismatched doors leading to private offices. No door was bigger, blacker or heavier-looking than Amelia Bones's, which had no knob but only a heavy iron door-knocker in the shape of a bird's foot, which, when Harry grabbed it, gave him a little shock.

"Ow," he complained, surprised.

"Some kind of security check," Hermione guessed.

Apparently, Harry passed the test, because a moment later the door swung open on silent hinges. The young witch that sat behind the reception desk was painting her nails so she had to use the blade of her hand to touch the communication orb. "Your nine o'clock is here, Amy!" she said cheerfully.

"Send him in," came the slightly garbled voice from the stone.

The witch said, "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Potter. Madam Bones is ready for you."

"Thank you," he said as they went through the next door.

Madam Bones was an impressive figure in person. Speaking to her through Susan's locket had left Harry entirely unprepared for just how incredibly tall the woman was. Her wide jaw, high cheekbones and delicate eyebrows comprised a face that defied age: she could have passed for forty, although he knew she was in her seventies. She wore what must have been an Auror's dress uniform: a very formally cut black robe in a with an impressive-looking and very wide silver-accented collar, over the right shoulder of which was draped a maroon cloak, and topping it off was a maroon beret showing the crossed wands of the Ministry along with a seven little silver pips, the symbol of her rank. Over her left eye she wore a small, elegant monocle whose chain led into an inner pocket of her robe.

"Mr. Potter," she said as soon as he entered. "And this must be Miss Granger, who I've heard so much about. Please sit. You know, on second thought, considering that you're friends of my niece, eventually we will most likely dispense with formality anyway, so let us just skip right to it. You may call me Amelia, if I could call you Harry and Hermione."

There was a slightly awkward scramble as Harry said, "Of course, thank you," at the same time as Hermione said, "Oh I couldn't possibly!"

Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Order of Merlin Second Class, High Warlock of the Wizengamot, snorted, then laughed merrily, and to Harry all of those titles seemed to make way for her oldest title, which was Our Lady the Saint of Mischief. "Of course that's up to each of you," she said wryly.

Of course it would be highly inappropriate to bring up her other identity in this context: not only were they in the Ministry of Magic, where she worked as a mischief-unmaker, but there was also the fact that Hermione knew nothing of the Head of the DMLE's oldest title. Still, Harry was pleased to see that the legend lurked just beneath the surface. He couldn't help but grin.

"Now, Harry, I've taken the liberty of doing a cursory check, and as far as I can tell the Ministry has not ordered a mail-block to be placed on you."

"So, it is an extralegal activity," Harry concluded, his good humor evaporating like so much morning mist.

" _Extra_ legal?" Hermione repeated, amazed by his understatement.

Harry shrugged. Understatement was something he sometimes enjoyed. To Amelia, he said, "So, how can we determine the culprit?"

"First, if I may, would you allow me to check just what we're dealing with?" she said. "I happen to know just the spell. If you would stand up, Harry? And come around here. Now, if I may?"

With his permission, she began twirling her wand about in circles over his head, then hummed in an agitated thoughtfulness, then proceeded into a rather long series of additional charms of detection. After all of this was done, she said carefully, "Harry, not to cause you distress, but it seems that there are rather a few _extra_ legal spells on your person. Including one particular … most distressing spell."

"I see," he said unhappily.

"You do not seem particularly surprised," Amelia noted.

"I can't say that I am," he acknowledged. "Distressed, perhaps, but not surprised. I rather suspected as much. But now, can we determine who's cast all these spells, and what exactly they do?"

"As for what they do, I can determine some but not all," Amelia said. "As for who's done it, I may be able to determine that by consulting the registry of bloodmarks."

"Bloodmarks?" Hermione repeated.

"Many spells leave behind what's called a bloodmark. A bloodmark is like a sort of … magical fingerprint," Amelia explained, struggling only a little to remember the analogy typically used for the benefit of muggleborns. "It cannot be faked. Of course, the Unspeakables have access to a rather more complete registry of bloodmarks than the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, since up here we're only allowed to keep records of people who've committed some crime in the last five years. Regulations, that's all. The Unspeakables, on the other hand, have no such constraints, and indeed strive to maintain a most comprehensive registry. Now, I could check against my own listings, but I think we'll be requiring the Unspeakables in any case, due to something rather alarming which I've detected just now."

"One of the spells is something you're not equipped to deal with," Harry deduced.

Amelia smiled sadly at him. "Susan did say you were a clever boy," she said. "Yes, in fact, there is, as I said, a most distressing bit of magic on you – quite dark magic, in fact. Among the Unspeakables downstairs, there are some that specialize in exactly this kind of magic, so I'm confident that we will be able to put it to rights without much difficulty." If Harry wasn't very much mistaken, however, Amelia seemed to be not particularly confident at all.

"Amelia, could you maybe be a bit more specific?" he asked, rather pained.

Amelia nodded several times as she looked away, biting her lower lip, a very uncharacteristically nervous sort of gesture for her. "Well," she said. "Let me just start with the basics, I suppose. As you suspected, there is an owl-confunding field around you, which redirects any owls sent to you to some other location. Such spells are very commonly in use, you understand – I have one over my own self, in fact. It redirects all of my mail to my offices, so that owls don't swoop down on me in the field. Very useful charm – rather illegal to use on someone else without their knowledge, however, of course, as well as a bit difficult to actually pull off."

"And, where exactly is my mail being sent?" he asked.

"That, I can't say," she said apologetically. "Although, when the Unspeakables tell us just who's done this to you, that should be a good hint."

"All right," Harry said. "What else did you find, then?"

"Additionally, there are several spells meant to monitor your movements and status: your health, your emotional state, and so on. And one which, I believe, should raise an alarm in the event of you ever do any dark magic."

"Best put off my dark rituals, then," Harry managed to joke despite the enormity of the horror of the realization that the minutiae of his life were constantly monitored by some as-of-yet undetermined individual.

"Rather," Amelia agreed, managing a smile. "There is also a custom version of the Trace," she said, and seeing their confusion explained: "The Trace is a spell put on the wands of all underage wizards and witches. It notifies the Ministry in the event that they should practice underage magic outside of the supervision of a qualified instructor. Really, it's the only way we manage to enforce those laws. This custom version, however, isn't on your wand but on your wand-arm. It seems that it is meant to indicate to whoever cast it not only intentional magic you do, but also accidental magic – something which the Ministry does not keep careful track of."

"Ah," he said. That was rather disturbing, really. He wondered just how good it was – could it detect the accidental mind magic he may or may not have been doing with BrewPotion and his other mental cantrips or tricks? "None of this seems particularly dark," he concluded after a moment's silence. "You said that there was something dark on me, too."

"There are a number of additional spells on you, Harry," she said. "Although only one that I can identify. And yes, this last one that I can identify is … well, it's one of the darkest forms of magic known."

"Amelia," Harry said seriously. "Please just tell me what it is."

"Right," she said unwillingly. "Well. First, I have to explain a bit. Now, as I said, there are specialists downstairs who are trained to work in a branch of magic we call soul magic."

"Soul magic," he echoed.

"Very dark stuff," she said. "Well, among the soul magics there are a few things that can be used for good purposes, but it's all considered dark magic. Tampering with the soul is the essence of the worst kind of dark magic."

"Has my soul been tampered with?" Harry asked quietly.

"Oh – Harry, I'm so sorry I gave you that impression. No, no it hasn't been, at least not as far as I can tell. Oh, you poor child. No, no your soul is fine."

"Then what –?"

Amelia cleared her throat. She said, "There is a kind of magic which allows a witch or wizard to, well, sort of _hide away_ a bit of her soul into some external object. The benefit of this kind of soul magic is that it allows the witch to persist on the mortal plane even should their body perish. They do not become a simple ghost, but a kind of specter that's capable of doing mind magic and soul magic despite lacking physical form. It's then possible for them to possess the body of another, or else to create a new body of their own. As long as that object into which they put that bit of soul survives, of course."

Harry could only blink rapidly as he processed this. It was, in effect, a kind of immortality – albeit a rather wretched kind. Harry had not known that there was magic in the world that could defeat death. Hermione, similarly, was stunned silent.

"The object into which the soul fragment has been implanted is known as a _horcrux_ ," Amelia explained. "Harry. There are ways to remove a horcrux from an object without damaging it. The Unspeakables know how."

"Amelia," Harry said seriously. "What, exactly, does this have to do with me?"

"Harry. That scar on your forehead…."

"The scar," he said slowly. "What about the scar, Amelia?"

"It would seem … unless I'm mistaken … there is a bit of another person's soul inhabiting that scar. Harry, I'm so very sorry. You are a horcrux."

Harry was aware of his arms feeling very heavy and his head feeling very light. His eyes just saw a dark and distant blur of orange-tinted light, although they were very wide open. For a few moments, there was not a single thought in his mind.

"Harry!" Hermione was crying, holding him. "Harry! Are you okay! Harry!"

Harry was vaguely aware of some of Amelia's magic washing over him, and then he felt the warm parts and the cold parts and the heavy parts and the light parts of his body equalize even as his mind came back around to him. "I'm a horcrux," he finally managed to say, his words seeming to echo around the room just as if he was speaking from the bottom of a well. "Voldemort's?"

"That remains to be determined, Harry," Amelia said. "Although if I were to guess, that seems to be the most likely possibility."

"That means … that means that Voldemort is still alive," he realized. "And I've been keeping him alive."

"Harry," Hermione said, "this isn't your fault! It must have happened when you were just a baby. And Madam Bones said that there were ways to remove it."

"Amelia, I want you to get this thing out of me," Harry said slowly. Then suddenly he was screaming: "I want it out! Get it out!"

Amelia offered him a phial of potion. He recognized it immediately as the same potion that Susan had given him once before, when he had been about to freak out in the middle of the Great Hall. He took it down in a painful gulp, his throat raw although he had only screamed a few sentences. Just like before, a sort of unnatural calm washed over him: the out-of-emotions experience of the concoction. He felt almost as though he was a bystander to his own life, knowing all of the facts but entirely nonpartisan, not in the least emotionally swayed by them. The strange disconnection to his own reality was unnerving, to say the least, but at least he could _think_ again.

"Thank you," he said quietly once he had acclimated to the strange effects of the brew. "I needed that."

"There is no time to waste," Amelia said quietly. Then, rubbing the little orb on her desk, she said, "Sheryl. Cancel everything on my schedule today."

"Amy, are you sure?" the aqueous little voice of her secretary said. "You have –"

"Sheryl," she repeated. "Do it."

"Of course."

"Have Unspeakables B-Zero-One, B-Zero-Three and B-Zero-Seven come up to my offices immediately," she added. "Tell them it's urgent. Tell them I don't care if it's their day off."

"Right away, Amy," Sheryl said.

"And a spot of tea for six when you have a chance, dear?"

"Sure thing, Amy."

"And Sheryl? Perhaps we should call the Minister as well: make it tea for seven, if you would be so kind."

"Okay, Amy."

There was a short silence after she had dispatched her orders to her secretary. Then Amelia Bones heaved a very deep sigh and said, "The agents I've requested are some of the foremost experts on soul magic in the country. I'm confident that they will be able to get that thing out of you, Harry."

"I'm glad," he said somewhat mechanically.

"Madam Bones –" Hermione said.

"Really, dear, Amelia is just fine."

"All right. Amelia. I was wondering, how is it possible that nobody noticed this ten years ago? I mean, surely, being the only survivor of the Killing Curse, a lot of tests must have been done on Harry."

Harry was rather glad that Hermione had come along. There was no way that in his current state, potion notwithstanding, he would have thought to ask such a pointed question.

Amelia scowled – an expression that looked rather odd on her youthful, kind face. She said, "The Ministry wasn't allowed anywhere near Harry after that incident. You see … there were fears that some of You-Know-Who's agents were still among us at the Ministry – even in this very department. There were even still some people who were still entranced by the Imperius, even in the highest offices. At the time, it seemed perfectly reasonable that the Chief Warlock forbade anyone from coming within spelling distance of Harry –"

"Dumbledore," Harry said. Despite the unnatural calm affected by the potion, Harry was aware of a rather muted emotion that could be nothing other than rage. "He must have known about this … he cast all those spells on me, he would not have missed something like this."

"If true," Amelia said with the blackest disapprobation, "we will see him fed to the dementors, Dumbledore or not."

Sheryl the secretary came in with a pot of tea, seven cups and a tray of biscuits. Amelia shooed her away when she went to set up the cups in front of them. Sheryl favored Harry with a cheerful smile before making her exit, an expression which he returned with a dull glare that seemed to put her on edge. Amelia distributed the cups and poured the tea herself.

"I should have liked to meet you under better circumstances," Amelia said – her voice now somehow both wistful and yet still shrouded by her dark mood. "I do so love talking about Hogwarts and things with the younger generation."

"I don't see how we can go back to Hogwarts," Hermione said in sudden realization. "We can't remain under Dumbledore's authority. Not anymore."

"Indeed," Amelia said. "If Dumbledore continues his post there, it would be very ill-advised for you to return, considering."

"Minister Fudge has arrived!" the secretary's voice bubbled from the little communication orb.

"If nothing else, he is prompt," Amelia told the pair. Then, speaking into her communication orb, she told Sheryl to send him in.

Upon the Minister's entrance, Harry felt a bit of perplexment at the man's odd appearance. He was a very short man, bald except about the crown, with a pencil-line mustache that seemed out of place on his rather rotund face. He wore muggle tweeds, and under one armpit carried a rather hideous bowler hat in lime green. "Amelia," he cried gaily, as though he had not seen her in far too long. "Dear Amelia, how are you? And who might these young ones be?"

"Cornelius," she greeted him, standing to shake his offered hand. "These are Miss Hermione Granger –"

The Minister for Magic offered his hand to hear and said, "Pleasure, pleasure, young lady. You may call me Cornelius – no need to stand on formality with me, my dear! – Minister of the people, they call me, you know –"

Giving the rather flummoxed Hermione no chance at all to formulate an appropriate response to the Minister for Magic's over-the-top friendliness, Amelia continued: "And this is Mister Harry Potter."

" _Great Scalt_! By my blood, is it truly Harry Potter! Oh my, what a pleasure it is for me to make your acquaintance, Harry!" The Minister had allowed his strange hat to fall from his armpit as he embraced Harry's hand with both of his own, shaking it enthusiastically. "Oh, truly, it is you, isn't it? Why, I'm perfectly giddy to meet you, Harry! Perfectly giddy! At a bit of a loss for words, I'm afraid! – why, my dear boy, how long I've wanted to meet you. And what a fine-looking young gentleman you are! Amelia, I'm glad you called me over – canceled golf with Rynwald, you know –"

"Yes, thank you, Cornelius," Amelia said. "Thank you. Unfortunately, this isn't just a social call, Cornelius."

"Oh?" he said, still clasping Harry's hand with both of his.

Noticing this, Amelia said, "Your hat, Cornelius," which caused the Minister to release Harry in order to retrieve his absurd headwear from the floor.

"Unfortunately, you say?" the Minister repeated as he brushed some imaginary dust off of his hat.

She let out a little sigh. Then she said, "You see, Harry here came to report a rather serious crime that's been committed against him."

" _Crime_ , Amelia?" he repeated, shocked. "There's been a crime against Harry? Why! Unthinkable – I trust that you're handling this with all the seriousness that such a matter should entail, Amelia? – Rest assured, Harry, our dear Amelia has no patience for criminals. Oh, none whatever! I'm confident that she will put matters quite to right! Now, Amelia, if there's anything _I_ can do to help – oh, but of course, why else would you have called me? So, what is it you need?"

"I have every confidence in Amelia Bones, as well," Harry said – the calmness of his voice, for it was the first time the Minister had heard him speak, seemed to put Cornelius rather on edge. "And, if I may say, I'm glad that you're willing to support me as well, Minister."

"Willing to support? – Why ever wouldn't I be willing to support you, Harry?"

"Perhaps it might be better to wait for the Unspeakables to arrive," Amelia commented.

"Oh, pish-and-tut," Cornelius said. "Favor me early-knowing, Amelia!"

"Oh, do please, Cornelius," she said in exasperation.

"It's all right," Harry said softly. "Minister –"

"Oh, please, Harry, Cornelius if you would," the Minister said.

"Cornelius," he said with a certain deliberate open friendliness. "Thank you. On Amelia's behalf, the reason why she is so recalcitrant to oblige you by saying what this is about, is because it's a matter of rather grave implications, not only for myself, but possibly for this very country."

"Oh, my!" the Minister said in a sort of confused, grave excitement, turning his hat round and round over his belly. "Oh, you are such a well-spoken boy! My oh my!" Harry wondered if the man had understood what he had said.

"The thing is, Cornelius, the crimes I have come to report were committed by a rather distinguished individual in our society, and it is difficult to predict just how their coming-out-into-the-open should affect us all."

"Distinguished individual?" the Minister repeated: repeating the key phrase of what was last said to him, Harry was beginning to realize, was one of their Head of State's personal idiosyncrasies. "Who, pray tell?"

"A _rather_ distinguished individual," Harry repeated solemnly. Then, despite the dark matters they were discussing, and despite or perhaps due to the effects of the potion which continued to affect him, he added, "Care to guess who it might be?"

"Why!" the Minister said, and he seemed to think the matter over for a few moments, and then said, "Why, I wouldn't care to venture to guess at all! Particularly since I do not yet know what crime we're talking about!"

"Oh, quite," Harry remonstrated. "Well, let me tell you that first, then: the crimes are several. A certain individual – a distinguished individual, as I say – has placed upon me several charms which track my location, my state of health, and other things, and send away any owls sent to me."

"Send away owls?" the Minister repeated. "Well – perfectly awful, that. I suppose it would explain why you never responded to any of my requests for tea!"

"Something which I would be glad to have, Cornelius, at your convenience once this is all settled."

"My darling Margaret would be so delighted to host you!" Cornelius exclaimed jovially. "Oh – my wife, you understand – she has _such_ a soft spot for you. I daresay she was even more disappointed than myself that you never RSVP'd! And of course, that doesn't begin to cover the various state ceremonies…. My, this really is a serious matter, come to think of it. But you have yet to tell me, who is the culprit of this most undignified act?"

"Oh, but first, I should tell you the cruelest part, Cornelius," Harry said, now full in the proddingly chatty mood that speaking with Draco often put him in.

"Further cruelty?" the Minister repeated, apparently outraged by the prospect of anything that could be worse than denying his dear wife such a pleasant afternoon tea.

Harry took one or two seconds to take in the look of patent hilarity that Amelia Bones was struggling to force back, as well as the look of astonished incredulity that his best friend wore, before he made his next response. He said, "Oh yes, and a thing much more unheartsome than any of the last, Cornelius. You see, this person did knowingly and deliberately allow me to come under the effects of a dark –"

When Sheryl's voice hummed wetly through the communication orb on Amelia's desk, Cornelius was so put out by not hearing the dramatic culmination of the tale that he nearly lost his balance and had to take a seat. "The rest are here," Sheryl said simply.

"Through they come," Amelia said.

Cornelius, having just taken his seat moments ago, jumped up to his feet like a taut spring when the three Unspeakables entered. They wore robes of dark gray, their hoods up and shrouding their faces with an enchantment which made them look just as flesh-colored blurs. They walked in with all the solemnity of a funeral party, and then the foremost of their rank inquired with a sort of businesslike detachment and a strident simplicity of phrasing, "We are required?"

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen, how are we today?" Cornelius exclaimed. "Ah – Amelia, you did not inform me that we would be receiving more?"

"The Unspeakables will be required," she said plainly.

"Oh, I see," he said. "Well, my dear friends, please, down with those silly hoods, if you would?"

With obvious reluctance, the three Unspeakables lowered their hoods, revealing the perfectly plain and ordinary faces that lurked beneath the bizarre perception-altering enchantments of their hoods. "Ah," the Minister said. "If it isn't dear Frederick and Pyrenikos. And who might your friend be?"

The first one to come through and speak, a man with gray about his temples who was evidently the leader of the group of three, said with a slightly pained expression, "This is our _associate_ B-Zero-Seven."

"Oh, I see," the Minister said, clasping the agent's hand in a most friendly manner. "Wonderful to meet you, Naught-Seven. Ah … your given name?"

B-Zero-Seven gave his superiors an uncertain look. The leader rendered him a single, curt half-nod, little more than a sort of downwards twitch of the chin. B-Zero-Seven said, "Ryan, sir." Upon receiving a questioning look from the Minister, and a bridge of the nose-pinching, very slight widening of the eyes from his evident boss, he elaborated, "Ryan Boswith."

"Oh, lovely! What a pleasure to meet you, young Ryan! Boswith, Boswith … would that be the Nittery Boswiths? Oh, it's always good to meet with you Unspeakables. Such friendly people, Amelia, once you get them to forgo their ridiculous tendency towards anonymity!"

The Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement cleared her throat and favored the Unspeakables with a most apologetic glance before she said, "Of course, there is a reason I've asked you all to come here … as well as the Minister."

"Reason?" the Minister repeated. "Oh, yes – Harry, weren't you about to say something rather important?"

"Oh," he said. "Yes, I was. Although – perhaps Amelia could explain it better."

"Ah, yes, I remember now. You said something of a _most dark_ whatsit! What was it, then?"

His perfect incredulity rendering him somewhat off-balance, and perhaps the effects of the potion beginning to fade away, Harry opened his mouth once or twice before he managed to make any words come out. He said, "Well, Cornelius – erm, distinguished Unspeakables – I was just about to say, well –"

"Oh, come, Harry!" Cornelius said. "All of this build-up is simply too much!"

"Well – oh, perhaps we should all sit down?" he said, suddenly noticing that Amelia's desk had somehow changed into a circular table without his noticing, arranged around it just the right number of chairs. After the Minister had resumed his seat, and the Unspeakables had taken a seat, Harry said, his voice suddenly rather hoarse, "Well." Except the panic was beginning to come back, and he couldn't seem to explain any more.

Hermione took his hand under the table – her hand was very warm – and Amelia favored him with such a sympathetic look that her monocle fell right out from under her wide-open eyes and swung from its chain. "Yes," she said, "Harry is right. I should explain."

"Well," the Minister said, "please do, then, Amelia."

Amelia steepled her hands together on the table, a most weary and tired look on her face, and she said without any preamble, "It would seem that You-Know-Who has made a horcrux out of Harry, here."

The three Unspeakables – who, it should be remarked, received their high salaries partially due to their tendency towards discretion and pure unflappability – were all rendered in such a state of shock by this pronouncement that the three of them proceeded, in the case of each in order of their respective codenames, into either a state of mouth-flapping silence, a state of rageful yelling, and a state of worried muttering.

Some might expect the Minister, upon seeing their extreme reactions, to appreciate the great gravity of the situation. Yet Cornelius Fudge, taking a look at the trio's faces, seemed to find great amusement in their predicament, and proceeded to laugh gaily. "Oh, your faces, gentlemen. Excuse me, excuse me," he said when he finally stopped laughing. Then, seeing how all were now regarding him as a pestilential buffoon, he must have realized that he had acted most inappropriately, for he said, "Amelia, explain! What is this … thing? This _whore's cross_?"

"Dear Cornelius," she said sadly, her voice suggesting that she might be addressing a student she knew poorly and didn't favor, or a nephew that asks to borrow money too often. "It is but the darkest of magic."

" _Daaark_?" he repeated, stretching the word quite longly. "You mean to say, our boy Harry has fallen under some dark curse?" And if Harry's imagination wasn't running amok, which it had been known to do, the Minister seemed to lean just a degree or two away from his person.

"Mister Minister," Hermione said, and as it was the first time she had spoken since any of their guests had entered, and since her voice carried so very stridently, all eyes turned to her, and she continued in such a commendably unabated way that Harry found himself squeezing her hand tightly in thanks as she said, "I _do_ hope you appreciate – _or beg to learn_ – the severity of the implications of what's being said here, before you _do_ draw conclusions!"

"My word!" the Minister said. "I assure you – I always appreciate –"

"Has it not occurred to you the calamitous nature of what we're discussing here?" she rode onward. "Has it not occurred to you that the fundaments of our society lay in the very balance, here? Please – _Cornelius_ – respectfully, I must ask you, do _listen to the explanation._ "

"Great Scalt!" he said. "Never but my wife! – Well, do carry on then, Amelia – what is this hot-cross thing?"

"The _horcrux_ ," Hermione explained saltily, "is the darkest of magics you could possibly imagine, _Cornelius_. Moreover, it is such a magic that the one who cast it must be still alive – and the one who cast it is _the Dark Lord_!"

So insonorous was the unbreathy receival of this declaration that Harry could hear the throb of the swollen veins about his temples. The Unspeakables all seemed as men who had known something but refused to see it. The Minister, on the other hand, had an expression of shocked aghastment that bent his expression so much as to make it seem that his face had an unnaturally elastic quality to it.

"Alive?" the Minister echoed at length. "The Dark Lord, alive? You say that the Dark Lord lives? Are you mad, girl? Why, Amelia, a crime has indeed been committed here – I should think making such a mad pronouncement a criminal offense! Disturbing the peace, at least. Great Scalt, girl, the nerve of you!"

"Cornelius," Harry said in such a forceful kind of friendliness that it caused his jaw to feel quite tight, "I assure you, this is the only truth."

The leader of the Unspeakable trio intervened before the Minister could further make an ass of himself, saying, "Minister. There is a perfectly simple test."

"Oh, well!" the Minister said. "If there's a _test_. A test to determine whether the Dark Lord lives! – well, do have me along. Let's see your test, Pyrenikos."

"I'll make an assumption as to its location?" the Unspeakable asked Amelia as he stood and came around to Harry with wand in hand.

"Hard to miss the target mark, I predict, B-Zero-One," she said.

"Right," said he. "Mr. Potter, if I may?"

Harry made a sweeping glance around the table and took note of the emotions portrayed by the faces present. Somehow, in his current state, every single face in the room seemed like it might just as well belong to an alien species for all he understood them, including those of the two women present. Nevertheless, he gave Hermione's hand another sharp squeeze before he stood and said, "Of course, Mr. B-Zero-One."

Pyrenikos made short work of his spells – for it was not, apparently, particularly difficult to isolate the presence of such an unholy spell.

"Never in my life have I seen its like," Pyrenikos announced. "There can be absolutely no doubt, however: we are indeed dealing with a horcrux. The most interesting thing is the spells all around it," he concluded. "There seems to be something inhibiting what it would normally do…."

"Which is, sir?" Hermione asked sharply.

Regarding her with an expression that seemed to speak of unexpected respect for another, he said plainly, "Normally, I think, putting a horcrux on another living being would render the subject … well, their decision-making process would be changed, let us say. At least, that's what I would think it would do – as I say, I've never seen its like before."

"And Harry's decision-making is unchanged?" Hermione asked.

"Well, as far as I can tell, these barriers that someone has put around it has contained its influence to the affected area," B-Zero-One said. "That being said … well, the affected area is the prefrontal cortex. It is hard to say what, if any, influence has been made – but these spells are very strong…."

"Pyrenikos!" Cornelius exclaimed. "Just what are you saying, anyway? What is this _whore's-cross_ , anyway?"

Pyrenikos, known professionally as B-Zero-One, favored Amelia with a glance that spoke not of a moment's irritation but of a whole Minister's term worth. With what seemed to be his best attempt at not treating his superior disparagingly, he said, "Oh, but it is just the darkest of magic."

"Yes, quite, as has been said!" the Minister erupted. "Now what, pray, is it!"

It was that youngest of them, Ryan Boswith, who cared to elaborate to their Head of State just what they spoke of. He said, "The horcrux … it's a sort of splintering of the spirit, whereby someone may persist in life even after death. In this case, it would seem, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has issued a fracturement of his own spirit into the one who defeated him – this heir-Warlock Potter."

Cornelius's face was only further confused by the youngest Unspeakable's wordy explanation. "Has anyone got that in English?" he said.

Hermione explained in measured words, "You-Know-Who left a chunk of his soul in Harry. Because of that, You-Know-Who lives."

"Oh, my word!" Cornelius exclaimed. "My dear girl, this is no time for triflementaries!"

She said, "Minister, all here assure you, this is no … _triflementary_ : You-Know-Who lives. It seems that his last act before he was – ah, _cast out_ – was to ensure his immortality by placing this … this heinous curse upon Harry."

Then the Minister regarded Harry with such a look so as to make him feel as one who would not be welcome over for tea, regardless of what his wife said. The Minister said, "So you mean … the Dark Lord – You-Know-Who – he's alive, and has been alive during the last decade, kept alive by this … this _boy_?"

Amelia said, "Calm yourself! For B-Zero-One, it is but a simple matter to remove a horcrux."

Except Pyrenikos did not look so sure. He said, "Madam Bones … we've never attempted to extricate a horcrux from a living being…. It would be very risky. You understand, we cannot permit Harry Potter to die."

"Die?" Harry repeated.

"How do you mean, _die_!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Girl," the one known as B-Zero-Three or Frederick said. "The thing is, we would like nothing better than to clear him of this thing … but it may not be possible. In the end, it would be better to let him die than to let the Dark Lord live, I think."

"B-Zero-Three!" Pyrenikos exclaimed. "I beg you, have some decency, man! This is _Harry Potter_ , don't you understand that?"

"Even so …" the man said.

"Not another word, man!" Pyrenikos snapped.

For his own part, Harry could only do a bit of social calculus, as so much as he had learned from his aunt – except in this case some of the resultant equations seemed to bring about either widespread carnage and mayhem or his own death. It was a sort of social calculus, he concluded, other than anything Petunia had ever contemplated. It was a sort of social calculus wherein he could not see a result in which he _lived_. He was faintly aware of a sort of light surrounding his person, something part of him thought to wonder if anyone else could see, or if it was just one of his perceptual distortions again, when he said, "I won't ever die for Voldemort."

"Mmm," Frederick said. "Perhaps we could not expect such a one to walk quietly into the –"

"Would you _shut up_ , B-Oh-Three?" Pyrenikos snapped. "Could you, please, possibly stop contemplating the incontemplatable? For a moment!"

"Sir, I see no other way –"

"I said _shut up_ , damn it!" Pyrenikos suddenly yelled. "If you value your career, would you please hold your accursed tongue? Damn it, Fred. _Would_ you have some perspective?"

"Would _you_?" he demanded. "Think of the magnitude –!"

Cornelius Fudge, despite his earlier hostility displayed towards Harry, seemed to have come around to the opinion that it would be political suicide to have the Boy-Who-Lived slaughtered like a sacrificial goat. "Have I missed something," he said in what was a surprisingly odious tone, "or is our friend here suggesting something unspeakable? – Ah, no offence, friends."

" _The boy must die_!" B-Zero-Three suddenly screamed, standing, wand in hand, sparks on its tip. Suddenly there was a flash of brilliant red, and B-Zero-Three was flat on his back on the floor.

Amelia put her own wand back into her inner-robe pocket and explained calmly for Harry and Hermione's benefit: "When we are forced to terminate the employment of an Unspeakable, they receive no pension and no memories of their work. We will deal with erasing his thirty year career later."

"A repugnant creature," Cornelius opined, regarding his unconscious body as though it were something he had found on the bottom of his shoe.

Harry, though, could not help but wonder if perhaps the fallen Unspeakable had had a point. He said, "Is he not _right_? I mean, the fact that I have a bit of the soul of Your-Dear-Chum inside me, doesn't that mean –?"

" _Never_ , dear," Amelia said protectively. "Never you think that. While I hold this office, or after, I will see to it that it never comes to that. Harry, understand, your situation is extreme but it is not entirely unique: in fact, there were very few Aurors who came away from the war without some dark curse or other on their person. Some of these curses even made them a danger to the people around them – something which _you are not_! – and we would never, ever have contemplated doing anything but see to their treatment. Like those Aurors, in a way you were a combatant in the war – the final combatant. So it should come as no great surprise to anyone that, as the final combatant, you were inflicted with some horrible curse by the dying Dark Lord in his final moment. This does not make you a bad person. This makes you a damned hero – and yes, I say a _damned_ hero, but we will see to that. We will deal with it as we have always done: we will put your health first, and do whatever it takes to lift the curse from you, and if that isn't possible, we will do whatever we can to make it possible to live a normal life in spite of the curse."

"Thank you, Amelia!" Cornelius exclaimed, apparently deciding to bandwagon onto her speech. "What wonderful words – and Harry, it's true: that has and always will be the position of the Ministry. And in particular, of this administration."

Harry nodded, feeling oddly quite grateful that his government was committed to his life, rather than wanting to kill him – which, he still thought, was a perfectly rational position as well.

"Speaking of," Cornelius said, "what exactly are we waiting for, Amelia?"

"Waiting for?"

"Well, let's remove this curse, shall we?" he said, as though he himself knew just how to do so.

"Well," she said, "that brings us back around to your earlier question, Cornelius."

"My question?" he repeated, at a loss.

"Regarding the certain _distinguished individual_ responsible," she reminded him gently.

"I would hardly call the Dark Lord a distinguished individual," the Minister said, appalled. "A dastardly individual, more like."

"Minister," Hermione cut in with a gentle reminder. "It was this _distinguished individual_ who did the mail-blocking spell and the others, but not the horcrux."

"Ah, yes," the Minister recalled. "Yes, quite right. Of course, why would the Dark Lord be interested in Harry's mail?" he added with a bit of a chuckle, which he cut short upon the realization that it was no time to make idle jokes. "So, am I to be kept in the dark much longer? Oh, out with it, one of you, do tell me."

"And it seems reasonable to suppose," Hermione added, "that it was this very same distinguished individual who placed upon Harry the barrier spells which have prevented the horcrux from having an influence on his mind – you know, the spells B-Zero-One mentioned earlier?"

"Ah," the Minister said. It was not entirely clear if he could recall Pyrenikos mentioning them or not.

The aforementioned Unspeakable cleared his throat, and said, "Well, it seems that you have your suspicions, Madam Bones, but I presume that part of the reason we've been called here is to determine beyond a doubt just who has done all of this?"

"Quite," she said. "As you know, my bloodmark registry is rather incomprehensive."

"Of course, of course," Pyrenikos said. "If I may, Mr. Potter?" the man added, standing once more.

Harry obligingly stood too, and Pyrenikos cast a few more spells over Harry's person while holding open a small book which seemed to hold an impossible number of pages. "Yes, I see," he said once he had apparently gotten the results from his spells on Harry, then tapped the small book, which rapidly flipped to a certain page. Pyrenikos repeated the spell on Harry once more, apparently just to be absolutely certain, before he made his announcement: "Unfortunately," he said, "there can be no mistake."

Cornelius sighed in exasperation and said, "Well, out with it, if you would be so kind, Pyrenikos?"

"Well, it would seem that Albus Dumbledore was very much aware of the horcrux, for it was he who put these barriers around it. Furthermore, there can be no mistake that he was the author of most of these other spells, the owl-confunder and whatnot. Albus Dumbledore has a most distinctive bloodmark, so there is absolutely no room for doubt."

"Just as we supposed," Amelia said neutrally.

"But _Dumbledore_?" Cornelius exclaimed. "Really! That is to say, Great Scalt! My oh my, my, my! My word."

B-Zero-One seemed to have no time to acknowledge the Minister's exclamations as he was already thinking about the resolution of the situation. "The problem we have," he said, "is that removing a horcrux from a living being is something we've never attempted before. And of course, it's not as though we could figure out a method by trial and error – not, that is, without making horcruxes of our own! Then there's the issue of these barrier spells. Even supposing that we came up with a way to safely remove the horcrux, I don't see how it would be possible to do so without first removing these barriers. Yet, that would leave Mr. Potter's mind entirely exposed to the ghastly thing. Well, there's no telling just what would happen then, but I'm sure it wouldn't be good…."

"Care to speculate, B-Zero-One?" Amelia said.

"Well," he said. "I would think, ma'am, that the moment the barrier spells are broken down, the horcrux would attempt to take control of the host body. Now, understand what that would mean: it would thoroughly entangle itself up with Mr. Potter's own soul! Once that had happened, there would be absolutely no way to safely extricate it, I think."

"Actually," Ryan Boswith, also known as B-Zero-Seven, spoke up. "I'm not so sure about that, Oh-One. If I'm not entirely mistaken, the spells here have not only prevented the horcrux from interfering with Harry's mind, but have also starved it of his magic. The thing will be weak – probably not even conscious – from a decade of magic and sensory depravation. I think it would take quite a while for it to be strong enough to mount a proper attack on him. Perhaps as long as an hour or more."

"I see your point, B-Zero-Seven," Pyrenikos said. "However, even if we have as much as an hour … well, it might not be enough. And what then?"

Ryan seemed to have realized the folly of their own words. "True," he said. "And there's something else that just occurred to me. Any fiddling with these barrier spells will likely jostle it awake, so that by the time they were fully removed, the horcrux would probably have a strategy of attack ready to implement."

"Then there's the other thing," Pyrenikos said. "Even if the horcrux doesn't have enough magic to perform a full possession of him, mind magic requires considerably less power to pull off. It would be able to do compulsions and extract his memories long before it was ready to do a full possession."

B-Zero-Seven nodded grimly. As the Unspeakables lapsed into thoughtful silence, considering every angle of the problem, the Minister found his voice: "Great Scalt!" he said. "Dumbledore. You-Know-Who. Harry Potter. Horcruxes, mind magic! What a tangled web. I think I need a stronger cup!" he added to Amelia. "Do you have any brandy?"

"Unfortunately not," she said shortly.

"Well," the Minister said. "Hm – you know, there is another matter, while our Unspeakable friends consider just how to get this thing out of Harry."

"Oh?" she asked, curious.

"Why yes, of course. We should be thinking about how to do him up!"

"I don't quite follow."

" _Dumbledore_!" he exclaimed. "Bring him up on charges! Have him in Azkaban before the weekend is out!"

Except Amelia frowned deeply. "Well," she said. "I don't see what charges we can bring him up on for this … I mean, charges that would stick in the wizengamot. Everything from the owl-confunder to these horcrux barriers – and I don't think we should bring _that_ up in court in any case – all of it, Dumbledore can just say he did it for the boy's own benefit."

"Oh," the Minister said, put out. "I see your point. Hex it all!"

"But Amelia," Harry said, "what am I to do? I mean, I can't just allow this to go on!"

Amelia adjusted her monocle speculatively and she said, "Mind you, Harry, I say these charges won't stick in the wizengamot. That isn't to say that there's nothing to be done about these spells. Well, for one thing, we can just remove them right away if you like. Then there's also the other possibility. If Cornelius and myself make it known to Dumbledore that we're aware at just what he's been up to over the last decade, and if it becomes clear to him that you're not prepared to stand for it a moment longer, we may be able to exert some kind of pressure over him."

"Pressure?" he asked, failing to understand. "Amelia, I don't need political pressure on him. I need him in prison!"

"On the contrary," Pyrenikos said. "It may be considerably easier to deal with this horcrux situation if we enlist Dumbledore's help. He has no doubt been thinking over the matter carefully over the last ten years, and he is in the best position to remove the barrier spells without awakening the horcrux. The longer it's unaware that it's about to be attacked, the better. So you see, we may need Dumbledore. His assistance, at the very least, would increase our chances of success significantly. Now, Mr. Potter, I understand that you're angry with him – and quite rightly so, I might add – but what's at stake here is your very life. Indeed, your very soul. If Dumbledore can help, you would be a fool to see him in Azkaban instead. On a somewhat less personal note, now that we know that You-Know-Who lives ... Dumbledore has always been the only thing that You-Know-Who fears, so it would be insane to try and remove him from the equation."

* * *

Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

The Tinkerer

Chapter 13

Sometime between when they left Amelia Bones's office and when they came back to the anarchist café, Harry had decided that perhaps it was just about time for him to have a chat with the Headmaster.

"But you _can't_ ," Hermione reminded him. "What if he legilimizes you?"

"What _ever_ if," Harry wondered, feeling rather flippant about the whole thing. "He may know that I know something? _Well_?"

"Well, yes!" she exclaimed.

"And, what of it?" Harry asked her. "We will be needing to enlist his help in any case. No, Hermione, loathe as I may be to admit it, it's just about time I share tea with the Headmaster. Even before this, you know, there were one or two matters that begged discussion."

"Oh?" she said with interest.

"Well, yes, _oh_ ," he said. "Such as why I was sent off to the muggle world to begin with, you know? I mean, it's perfectly strange, isn't it. Susan, Neville, Ernie, Draco – why, everyone thinks it's strange! There was an editorial in the _Prophet_ about just how jolly strange it is, you know. Well, what I want to know is why."

"Harry," she said seriously, "does it matter anymore? I mean, think of it – the muggle world is what made you who you are. I mean, don't you like who you are?"

"Good Lord!" he said in amazement. "What, am I meant to be grateful? And anyway, who's to say I wouldn't be even more self-likeable otherwise?"

She tried to suppress her laughter, but all that it accomplished was to create a great, undignified snort, causing her to cover her face and rapidly redden even as she proceeded to laugh wildly at his expense. "It's just –" she tried to explain breathlessly as he regarded her with affronted indignity "– _well_! That hardly seems possible!"

"Oh, funny," he said irritably. "Anyway, the point really isn't so much that I don't like how I was raised, but rather that I never should have been raised in such a way! It's just dashed odd, isn't it? I mean, think of it, my family had friends, you know? I mean, why should I have to go round like a private investigator uncovering who had some connection to Mr. and Mrs. Potter, when by rights I should have known them all since I was an infant?"

Hermione frowned. "Yes," she agreed. "That is something."

"Something!" he exclaimed. "Well, yes, I think it's something, anyway."

"But _really_ , it's hardly the most pressing thing. I mean, not right now."

"Well," he said. "That was just one example. There are other matters I'd like to speak with him about, too. D'you know, when I went to Gringotts for the first time, they told me that my education was _already paid for_?"

"Oh?" she asked, perplexed. "Is that _bad_? Hogwarts is expensive, you know…."

"Paid for _by my account_ , I mean," he clarified with the air of someone revealing some great scandal. "I mean, someone had taken the fine liberty of pinching gold from my bank account! To pay for my education!"

"Ah," she said, and seemed to mull it over. "Well. Yes, I see. I mean, imagine if you had paid twice without knowing? Still, though, I think you should probably focus on the horcrux thing."

"Yes, I suppose so," he said somewhat moodily. He was feeling rather put out that she was rather distinctly not outraged on his behalf. "Well," he added. "There's the matter of where's all of my post, you know."

"I hope you won't be needing any help sorting through it," Hermione said with a frown. "I mean there must be piles."

"Oh," Harry said in realization of the amount of work it would entail. "Oh, that's right. Well. It's mine, anyway. I better read it. Or, I mean, at least see it."

"I _really think_ ," she said, "if you _must_ speak with Dumbledore, which I would really not advise since he might legilimize you, or do something else untoward, well, if you do, I think the first thing you should probably ask him about isn't the post – I realize that's what we went to the Ministry about, but in light of recent things – _maybe_ , Harry, you might want to ask him – if you _must_ speak with him, that is – about the _horcrux_."

"It's not really my favorite subject," Harry admitted.

"Or how about if you _don't_ speak with Dumbledore at all, at least not until you have some occlumency, which seems to be a sort of necessary prerequisite of speaking to him, since as Amelia Bones says, he can legilimize people without a wand – and which, if you recall, will be necessary if you want to get that thing out of you in any case, so there will be little _point_ in speaking to him until you've got some occlumency."

"I see your point," Harry said with a frown. "Well. I suppose you're right, at that. I mean, I wouldn't want him mucking about in my head, least of all right before I get spiritually lobotomized."

"What a way to put it!" she exclaimed. "Yes, please, another coffee," she added to the allegedly anarchist waitress as she passed by. "I mean, really. Spiritually lobotomized? It's more like removing a tumor."

Harry waved away what he saw as a merely semantic point. "I was agreeing with you, you realize? I mean, I'm just saying, it's probably not a particularly good time for wanton legilimency, if you look at it. It can't be good to go into the Department of Mysteries with my brain all scrambled from an over-enthusiastic perusal."

"Not that there's any _good_ time," she added. "Best to avoid it at any time. So yes, quite right, before having a one-on-one with a known wandless legilimens of doubtful ethical standards and motives, let's get on with that occlumency, I think."

"You know, that does beggar one question," Harry said. "How are we supposed to know if we've made any progress in our occlumency, without a legilimens to poke and prod at our defenses?"

"Well, I should think that would be obvious to you, Harry," Hermione said, apparently ernestly surprised.

"Hm?"

"The potions, of course. Your mind magic potions. Once we can resist the effects of those, I think we'll know we've made a good deal of progress."

"Oh, yes, my potions," Harry said, feeling suddenly that they were perhaps not his most favorite invention. "We'll just take those potions over and over…. God, though, those potions were horrible. Don't you remember?"

"We'll make a nice mild version at first," she said, "and work our way up at intervals. It'll be fun, I think."

"Yes. Fun. Right. I wonder if I can just make a potion that gives you occlumency?"

"Harry, be serious," she said. "I mean – well, wait, could you?"

"I dunno," he said. "I haven't really thought about it. Well, no way to say without already being an occlumens, I think," he concluded after giving it a little thought. "Or having a legilimens around to help test it. I mean, how would we know it works? We could test it against my memory potions, but that wouldn't really prove that it's proper occlumency. More likely, even if it works, we'd just have a vaccine for memory potions. A useful potion no doubt, but not proper occlumency. No, no. I'm afraid it would be a waste of time. Still, I like your idea – well, that is to say, I don't particularly look forward to it, but I think it'll work. After we can defend against the memory potions, I'll whip up some Confounding Conconctions, and maybe some truth serums and love potions and the like, and whatever else I can dig up, and if we can beat all of that then there's a good chance that what we have is proper occlumency, and we can give Amelia Bones a call and have her legilimize us to see if it's up to snuff. Well, better her than Dumbledore, I think! It won't be fun, though – I really worry about you, when you say things like that, by the way. It'll probably be quite horrible. But, well, if it's in the name of science, and in the name of giving the old what-for to a Dark Lord _too_ , then I guess that's a suitable reason for a dash of suffering. Anyway, it's not like we have an alternative."

Hermione's smile was irrepressible. Harry, after regarding her secretive grin for a moment, said, "Something on your mind?"

"That old crown of thorns is back," she commented. "Why is it sort of charming this time?"

"That old crown of thorns," he balked. "Good grief. Well, you know, I'm not trying to be some martyr type person, but if taking a couple ill-advised potions can do some good in the world, well, I suppose I'll just have to take it at a gulp."

"Cheers to that," she said, offering her coffee cup for a clink. After a somewhat happy little silence she said, "Do you know what, Harry?"

"No, what?"

"I was just thinking. Well, if anyone can take on Dumbledore, and You-Know-Who, and Lord knows what else this world's got loaded up for you – well, I'm glad it's you. I mean, not that I'm glad you have to go through all of this. But they won't know what hit them!"

"Oh, well, thanks," he said, feeling somehow both uncertain and a bit proud.

"I mean it, Harry. Anyway, I was thinking about what you said earlier, and you're right, you know?"

"Probably," he said. "What did I say earlier?"

"We _are_ going to change the world."

"Too right," he said. "This irrational organization of power is bound to collapse under its own weight sooner or later, you know that? Well, we'll have something else primed and ready to take its place when it does."

"If you'd like another coffee," the waitress said, "it's on the house, you know. Always good to see a young fellow traveler."

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, startled. He hadn't seen her coming at all. "Thank you, but I think we were about to head out."

"More's the pity. Would you like to take a leaflet?"

"Oh, yes, please!" Hermione said, flashing Harry a very amused grin. The waitress happened to have a few leaflets stuffed in her apron, and happily distributed them. When they asked to buy some floo powder, she waived their fee of three nuts apiece, and gave them a tip: although their views may be widespread, they shouldn't speak of them in public. With that cheery reminder of how indiscreet the pair had been, which made Harry very grateful that the woman hadn't discerned his identity (thanks, no doubt, to his ever-trusty pointed hat), they flood over to the Hogsmeade café. Once there, Harry repeated the ritual that had been demonstrated to him by Becca the weekend prior: he ordered one "Hog's Finger," something which was neither a drink or a food and was found on none of the menus, but rather served as a code-word. The barista, the only other occupant of the sleepy café, favored Harry with a discrete left-eyed wink and muttered, "Glad to have another disciple on board." He accepted Harry's single galleon and showed the pair to the trapdoor which led to the Shrieking Shack.

"That was a bit strange," Hermione commented. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Oh, you'll get used to it," Harry said, attempting to hold himself with the aura of one who is wise in the ways of the world. "Anarchist cafés – ironically, an institution, whether in the magical world or muggle. As for where we are – well, under Main Street, I think. Or somewhere thereabouts."

"Comforting," she said, peering around the earthen tunnel somewhat suspiciously.

"Ravens might fly, and snakes might slither, and lions might prowl – but badgers are _tunnelers_ ," Harry pronounced in a voice of authority and pride. "Naturally, we Hufflepuffs do a fair bit of tunneling. You'll find, Hermione, that there's a whole network of tunnels under Hogwarts. And Hogsmeade, for that matter. Oh, and the forest."

"I was wondering, Harry, how is it that you know about all of this, anyway? And how was it that you knew that Professor Sprout would be tending the howling humphreyblossoms at seven this morning?"

Harry bobbed his head about speculatively as he looked at her with some consideration. "How do you feel about mischief?" he asked her.

" _Mischief_?" she repeated with some amazement. "Well, I don't know. I guess I find it mischievous."

"Well, yes, of course, but how do you _feel_ about it? I mean, remember that nasty work we did with Zabini. Jolly good fun, or more sort of regrettable?"

Hermione took her time in considering this, something which Harry hadn't really expected her to do. Finally, she said, "It was regrettable that we _had to do it_ , but it was a bit amusing _to_ do it. And working out the potion was great fun. If only the Gryffindor boys hadn't spoiled it."

"You surprise me, d'you know that? I mean, I realize you sneaked out of your house over the summer, and of course, there's today … still, though, you don't seem like much of a one to fly in the face of well-groomed authority types."

"Well-groomed?" she repeated.

"Or even Professor Snape for that matter," Harry allowed with a shrug.

"Well, I'm not one to do anything without a good reason," Hermione said. "But, having a good reason, I'm not one not to do anything."

Harry blinked once as that turn of phrase worked itself around, then he said, "Very well put!"

"But I thought you _liked_ Professor Snape!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed.

"Liked?" he repeated, amazed. "He's not easy to like. I appreciate and respect his skill in one of my favorite subjects."

"But didn't you say that you buttered him up with the concept of forming a defense club?"

"I didn't _butter him up_ ," Harry said, quite offended by the notion. "I think he's probably the most qualified to teach the subject in the whole castle. But that hardly means I _like him_ or I'm trying to _schmooze_ him or anything. Anyway, we've established that you're wholly in favor of a good bout of mischief when, as you say, _there's a good reason_."

"Why are you so interested in if I'm keen on mischief, Harry Potter?"

"Well, are you?"

"I've done little but make mischief since I've met you," she said. "Keen or not."

"Oh, come now, you sneaked out of your house and took the train all the way from Croydon to downtown and back again without my intervention. I might have advised against it, you know."

" _Really_?" she asked, superbly doubtful.

"Well, no. It was a good idea. I would have advised against getting caught, of course."

"I do wonder why you ask," she repeated.

"Well, I think you're keen on mischief, Hermione," Harry said. "So keen that, as you say, you've done nothing but make mischief since you got to Hogwarts and even before!"

"Maybe it is a bit fun to push the boundaries," she allowed. "As long as there's a good reason for it. I wouldn't do something like that out of spite, you know – that Zabini thing, even though I had fun working out the potions with you, it was really Susan's argument that it was a good way to avoid _further_ trouble which convinced me. Anyway, in hindsight, maybe it _was_ a mistake. But now, I _would_ like to know why you ask."

"Well, having established that you're quite keen on making mischief, pulling pranks, working wheezes and all that, let me ask you, how do you feel about Amelia Bones?"

"What has Madam Bones got to do with it?"

"Call her Amelia," Harry reminded her. "She wants to be good friends, remember?"

Hermione gave a great roll of her eyes. She said, "Why do you ask me how I feel about _Amelia_?"

"Well, she wants to be good friends with us, and I want to be good friends with her, and I'd just like to know if you'd like to be good friends as well, or sort of just some casual acquaintance. It's good to know these things from the start in order to avoid any hurt feelings. That's something I learned from my aunt, you know."

Hermione huffed in frustration but she said, "Well, Harry, I suppose I'd like to be good friends with her, too."

"Oh, that's very good. Now, how would you feel about worshiping her?"

" _What_?"

"This tunnel is a lot shorter than I remembered it being," Harry said as they approached the rickety staircase that led up to the Shrieking Shack's closet which could only be opened from this direction. Harry took Hermione's hand as he led her up – a precaution that would only ensure that if one of them fell through a stair, they both would. "This place is sort of interesting, isn't it?" Harry commented as they emerged through the closet.

Hermione took a long look around the place and said, "In a way. Not really, though."

"You know, I've never really explored the shack. You fancy scoping the place out?"

"I think I've seen enough," Hermione said, her eyes locked on the giant pile of rubbish in one corner. "There's a perfectly good barrel over there. Why don't they put their beer bottles in the barrel?"

Diligently, Harry peeked into the barrel. "Already full of rubbish," he said.

"Lovely. So, are we meant to just jog across the lawn to the school from here, or…?"

"My dear Hermione," Harry said, resuming his prior air of wisdom. "Have I not told you that this castle's grounds is a perfect mess of badger tunnels? Why, it amazes me sometimes that the castle doesn't sink into the ground below, considering!"

"Fascinating," Hermione said without feeling. "So, that trapdoor, I suppose?"

Harry frowned in disappointment. _He_ hadn't spotted the trapdoor nearly as quickly. Plus, he had really wanted to give the upper level a look-in, just to see. "Yes," he admitted grudgingly, supposing that he would have to poke around some other time. "That's the way back to school."

Once they were walking along the new earthen tunnel, not so different from the last one except perhaps a bit less straight and narrower, Hermione said, "Anyway, what did you mean before?"

"Oh," Harry said, suddenly inspired to mess around a bit more. "I just meant that all anarchist cafés are a bit similar. Whether muggle or magical, the far left make the best lattes."

At this she huffed, and her face, dimly lit as it was by their Lantern Light Charms, was so priceless that he could not help but laugh. "Oh, leave me alone," said she. "You _know_ what I mean."

"Sorry for laughing," he said, although he still was laughing. "But you got me pretty good earlier, you know?"

"Well, you did walk right into that. What was it you said? You might have liked yourself even better if you grew up magical?" And she laughed again at the memory.

"I used the word _self-likeable_ , I think," he said, joining.

After they had enjoyed the moment for a while, Hermione got back to business. "I was referring," she said, suddenly very pointedly, "to your strange questions from before. About mischief-making and Amelia and secret societies."

"By the sound of it, you've already put it all together!" he exclaimed.

"I really hope I haven't," she said faintly. "Are you meaning to say that Amelia Bones is part of a secret society within Hufflepuff which is devoted to mischief-making?"

" _Ding ding ding!_ "

" _No_ ," she breathed. "Preposterous. She's the head of police!"

" _Well_ , she may or may not ever have been part of it – I don't really know that much about our sacred and secret history, being a new initiate myself –"

Hermione made a noise of indignation but couldn't seem to form words.

Harry continued, "What I do know is that the Disciples work in her honor."

"The Disciples?"

"Of Our Lady," he clarified.

"What?"

"The Disciples of Our Lady the Saint of Mischief, Amelia Bones."

Hermione did little other than blink rapidly for a few moments, finally coming back around to a state of complete consciousness only after tripping on the root of what must have been a most virulent tree, for its roots to crop up from under the tunnel's floor. Harry caught her even though it was obviously unnecessary. Fortunately, it was sufficiently dark that she couldn't possibly have seen the heat under his cheeks and behind his throat.

"Nonsense," she finally said. "You're having me along again."

"Afraid not," he said, going to rest his hands casually behind his neck before realizing that that defeated the purpose of his Lantern Charm, then returning them awkwardly to his sides. "It's quite true," he added.

"Amelia Bones," Hermione breathed, aghast. "A trouble-maker."

Harry's laughter couldn't be contained no matter how many times she hit him on the shoulder. Finally it abated, and he said, "We prefer to call her Our Lady, so as to protect her identity."

Hermione just shook her head. "Impossible," she said. "Unreasonable, unthinkable, _utterly_ asinine."

"True," he agreed. "It's impossible, unreasonable, unthinkable and absolutely asinine. Still, it's true."

"Explain."

"It's a club," he diligently did. "A very exclusive club within Hufflepuff. You might even call it a secret society. Founded by Amelia Bones – or founded in her honor, maybe. Not really sure. Anyway, Amelia is known as Our Lady the Saint of Mischief, and her disciples, as we call ourselves, seek to cause quite a bit of mischief while keeping very hush-hush about the whole affair. Anyway, you should join up. Or don't, it's up to you. Of course, you can't go around babbling about it."

"I don't _babble_ ," she said, offended. "But I won't _talk_ , if that's what you mean. Anyway, this has something to do with Sonny's sister, doesn't it?"

"Perceptive as always. Er – that is to say, I couldn't confirm or deny."

"Well, what kind of things do you and Becca Albright get up to in this _ridiculous_ club, anyway?"

"I couldn't say," Harry repeated. Hermione's look, however, didn't accommodate that. So he put his palms up in peace as he walked backwards facing her, and said, "All right, I could say. As long as _you_ don't say. Anything about this to anyone, that is to say."

" _You're_ babbling," she declared.

"They helped me sneak out and taught me how to fly a broom," Harry said. "Other than that, not much, yet. Well – we stole some furniture. And we regularly do little pranks, mostly on the girls in Slytherin. That's because most of our members are girls."

If there was a dark gleam in Hermione's eyes at that proclamation, Harry didn't have enough time to be certain, because as it turned out walking backwards wasn't the ideal way to traverse a windy earthen tunnel, and he tripped on a large rock, dropping hard on his bottom. By the time Hermione helped him up, her face was sufficiently serious and disapproving that Harry could only conclude that he had imagined the flash of her eyes. She said, "And why, Harry, do you think that I – of all people – would ever want to be part of such a foolish club?"

"I'm member," he said plainly. "And we're partners."

"And?"

"And, it's really annoying trying to hide things from you. For one thing, you're too smart so you always figure it out anyway. For another thing … it makes me feel sort of weird. Like, I don't know. Guilty, maybe? Anyway, it's just a club. We do fun stuff, nothing bad. It's sort of a Puff perk for the cool kids. You want to be cool, don't you?"

"My Lor – _Merlin_ , Harry. You really think that _that_ sort of obvious peer pressure will convince me of anything?"

"Peer pressure?" he repeated as though he were unfamiliar with the phrase. "I really don't know what you mean. I'm just trying to outline the benefits and utter lack of downsides. Besides, I already said, you don't have to join if you don't want to join."

"It doesn't really sound like my kind of thing."

Harry shrugged. "You don't have to join," he said. "But you really should. Anyway, Ernie's joined."

"Oh, good," she said sarcastically. " _Ernie_ 's joined."

"Don't you like Ernie?" he asked, surprised.

"He's a bit … overbearing, sometimes," Hermione admitted. "Not that I dislike him."

"Well, Susan will be joining, I'm sure. Her being something of a legacy."

"You won't convince me with this _everyone's doing it_ argument!" she repeated.

"Not _everyone_ ," he said, amazed. "There's only about seven or eight of us, I think. I haven't met everyone yet, though."

"I'm not one to give into peer pressure," Hermione repeated.

Harry frowned. While it was true he had teased her a bit about being 'cool,' whatever that was, nobody in either world would mistake the great scrawny nerd that was Harry Potter for someone that was cool, and he hadn't actually meant to pressure her. "I told you that you don't have to."

"On the other hand," Hermione said. "You'll be running off with Susan and Ernie every other night, is that right?"

"Well, rather frequently, probably."

Hermione's lips scrunched up to the side. "Meanwhile, I'll just be staring at the ceiling in the suite, wondering if you've gone and blown yourself up, until Susan comes back and tells me that you had ever so much fun without me – can't tell me the specifics, of course –, and then I'll feel like _such_ an idiot for worrying, and I'll be kept up the rest of the night by feeling like an idiot. Then at breakfast, you and Ernie and Susan will be sharing looks and laughs and I'll just be wondering what it's all about, but I won't be _allowed_ to know, not being a club member. Eventually you'll probably invite Neville and Cerie and Justin and Wayne and Hannah to join in the fun, too, but I'll be stuck staring at the ceiling of the suite because I made _such_ a big deal about how it's too ridiculous and childish and I won't be a part of it. And pretty soon, you'll have so many secret looks and laughs with everyone else but me, we won't even have anything to say to each other! I'll spend the rest of my Hogwarts career playing gobstones with Megan every night while you're off gallivanting around – and I _hate_ gobstones – and of course I won't have anyone to complain to at all, because my _stupid_ Hufflepuff loyalty will completely prevent me from saying _anything_ to _anyone_ who's not already part of the club, and of course they'll just say 'why don't you join too, then?' until eventually I finally will join!"

Harry coughed. "Breathe, would you?" he said. Then he decided to tease her a bit, because why not? "We'll probably invite Megan eventually, too," he said most unhelpfully. "I don't see why we wouldn't invite Megan. She's a good sport. Anyway, I mean, you might have to learn how to play gobstones solitaire."

"Very funny," she said. "Fine, you know what? I'd rather be an early adopter. So I will join your club, Harry Potter."

"Not _my_ club," he reminded her. "Actually, come to it, I'm not entirely sure if I'm meant to be recruiting. But ah well. It's _Becca Albright_ 's club, as you deduced. We'll be talking to her this evening about your membership prospects."

"There better not be any dues," she said sulkily.

"Only due diligence, Hermione. Ah, what's this?" he added, regarding the root structure before them. "Did a tree grow in the way of the tunnel? Admirable fertilizer, though, making a tree grow up in a week. Good way to close off a secret tunnel, too. Merlin, this might be a problem…."

Hermione wasn't falling for it, though. She rolled her eyes and just demanded that he open the passage. "Fine, fine, ruin everything," he muttered in mock disgruntlement as he prodded the root with his wand. It didn't open, however. "Odd, that," Harry said, looking at it in confusion.

"Oh, just open it already, Harry."

"Come to think of it, Becca used some hex or other on the root. Hermione, you know any good hexes?"

"You're serious, aren't you!" she said in accusation. "We're really stuck!"

"Maybe just a firmer prod," he said nervously, giving the root a jolly hard poke. To his immense relief, that seemed to do the trick. The roots somewhat begrudgingly parted, allowing daylight to come through and forming a structure that could be negotiated more or less like a staircase. Harry peeked his nose out to make sure that the coast was clear and that the ferocious flora was well and truly stunned before he reached down to help Hermione climb out.

"You really will be the death of me, Harry Potter," she muttered as she brushed the dirt off of her robes.

"Yes, well, you're probably right – best not to loiter under this tree, though, if you're not in a hurry for me to be the death of you. Fancy lunch?"

Occlumency, as they discovered once they dug into it after lunch, safely alone within the confines of the potions lab in the collapsed secret passageway at the end of Hufflepuff Hall, was not particularly well-understood even by those who deigned to write volumes on the subject. The general idea of it seemed to be that one must empty one's mind entirely of emotion, free oneself of obligation, and yet retain a firm sense of oneself's _self_. "But _where_ does the magic come in?" Harry wondered.

"Supposing that it's intent-based, like really all magic is, I guess the magic that actually _defends_ your mind must somehow bring itself about once your mind is prepared for it," Hermione said, although she added, "I mean, I guess that's how it works."

Harry frowned deeply. "This won't do at all," he said. "You know, I thought there would be something more to it than this. I mean, what's the point of these books, anyway? Nine hundred pages worth of drivel if you ask me. You know, I've already got my mind better compartmentalized than this –" he checked the author's name "– P. R. Bowflanter suggests. If I didn't know any better, these so-called master occlumens don't know anything about the subject!"

Hermione gave him a most puzzled look. "You think you already have occlumency?" she repeated.

"I said that my mind is better compartmentalized than these _kooks_ deem necessary," he clarified. "But yes, it has had the effect of making it somewhat easier to resist magic of suggestion, I think. That's not the end goal of occlumency, of course, but it's one of the things beginners notice."

"You know, for some reason I actually believe you," Hermione said with obvious reluctance. "After all, the mind works in mysterious ways, as they say, and _your_ mind –"

"Careful," he said, although he knew she was taking another playful prod and didn't mean anything by it. "Anyway, I can prove it."

"Can you really?"

Harry cleared his throat, stood, and pointed at a rock. "Try to move that rock out of the way," he said.

"Do what?"

"Just try to clear it out of the path. Well, imagine that you want to make a path going past this lab, and that it's in the way, and move it."

Hermione just frowned at him. "Why would we want a path going deeper into this mess?"

"We'll be needing to build another room for enchanting," Harry explained patiently. After all, the demonstration would be most effective if she thought that they were clearing out the debris for a reason, and besides, they _did_ need an enchanting workshop.

Hermione took out her wand doubtfully, but Harry said, "No, with your hands."

"Are you having me on again, Harry?" she said in irritation.

"No, I promise. This is for occlumency. We don't joke about occlumency. Or, at least, we don't so far. Anyway, move the rock."

Hermione gave a huff of irritation and briefly bent over, but then stood up again without touching the rock. "This is so pointless!" she complained. "I mean, even if I move this rock, what's the point of it? You know, it's a nice day, maybe we should just go outside."

"I'd love to go outside," Harry said. "But not until you move that rock."

She scowled quite darkly at him. "It's really pointless. I mean, there are plenty more rocks in the way. So why should I? I'd rather be doing something else."

"Well, I'd rather this silly argument be over with and you just move that rock," he said.

Hermione's flustered and frustrated expression only intensified. "Fine!" she said. "I'll do it." But then she just stood there.

"Go on," he egged. "At least _try_."

With another huff of frustration, she bent over again and put her hands around it, but then she just gave up and stood up again, saying, "It''s too heavy."

"Did you actually try to lift it?"

"No, but it _looks_ so heavy. I don't want to throw my back out just to _amuse_ you, Harry Potter! Do you know, my dad threw his back out when he was redoing the yard, and he just sat there in the armchair for three weeks! And then it rained and half of his work on the yard had to be done all over again! It was _terrible_! Do you want the same thing to happen to me?"

"No, of course not," he said calmly. "But it's not a very heavy rock, really, and you're young. You won't injure yourself. At least _try_."

"I don't _want_ to move the damn rock!" she suddenly yelled. "It's _pointless_! And I'm really getting sick of your stupid games. Honestly, what has gotten into you today?"

Harry nodded. "Of course you don't want to move it," he said. Harry smiled, nodded again, cleared his throat with an elegant fist over his mouth, and walked over to her. Then he bent over, picked up the rock, and moved it to the other side of the room. "You see?" he said.

"See what?" she asked, completely confused.

"See how I moved the rock?" he clarified.

"It's just a rock," Hermione said. "I don't see what you're driving at. Wasn't this supposed to be something to do with occlumency?"

"I think you're forgetting something. There's a _reason_ why you refused to even try to move the rock, Hermione! Our Lady the Saint of Mischief placed a powerful Why-Try Charm over this cave-in debris. That's why nobody's ever cleaned it up, even after … I dunno, sixty years or so."

Hermione looked around the cave with new eyes. "That's why I don't want to even bother trying," she realized. "The charm makes you think it's pointless."

"Yes," he said. "It also makes you think of a laundry list of other things you'd rather be doing, or which are more pressing matters to attend to. The point is, look around you! I made this great big clearing right in the middle of her Why-Try Charm. How do you suppose I was able to do that?"

"You really _do_ have occlumency!" she exclaimed, looking at him with surprise.

"No," he amended. "I think what I have isn't proper occlumency, only something similar to it. Anyway. The idea isn't really to _ignore_ emotions and impulses so much as to acknowledge and then overcome them. Once you recognize the compulsion, it becomes much easier to do exactly the opposite of what it wants you to do, or to carry on without it having any impact on you."

"Acknowledge and overcome," she repeated.

"Try it again," Harry instructed, pointing at another rock.

Hermione moved over to it. "It's weird," she said. "As soon as I think about moving the rock, I think of ten reasons why I can't be bothered, or why it's not possible."

"That's all right," Harry said. "If you want, you can look at all of those reasons and realize how silly they are. Your brain is telling you it's too heavy – but you just saw me move a similar rock. It isn't that heavy. Your brain is telling you that you have to get started on your Charms essay – but it's not actually due until Wednesday. Your brain is telling you to go get something to eat – but you're not actually hungry. Your brain is telling you that you shouldn't be here – but we hang out here all the time. Your brain will keep telling you this and that and the other thing until you decided _not_ to move the rock. That's what Amelia Bones's charm does to you. But they're all bad reasons. Most of them don't even make sense, and besides, it's just a rock. No harm could come from moving it."

"All of the bad reasons sound so good though," she said, chagrined. "They're all illogical, but they don't seem illogical."

"It's a good spell," Harry agreed. "But it's just a spell. And you, Hermione, are a witch. So go on."

The rock, as it turned out, actually was rather heavy for her, but after screwing up her face and seeming to think very hard, she managed to pick it up, take a few steps, and deposit it elsewhere.

"It's just a matter of figuring out how to resist the charm," she said when she was done.

"Right!" Harry said with a grin. "Now, moving a rock is one thing: the charm isn't at its full strength when you're just purposelessly moving the rocks around. However, once we start trying to actually clear out the debris, that's when the charm works the best. It was cast with the purpose of preventing people from clearing the debris, not necessarily to prevent them from touching the rocks at all, you see."

Hermione looked at the massive pile of detritus all around them. "Don't say it," she pleaded.

"That's right!" Harry said happily. "We're killing two birds with one stone, Hermione. Practicing occlumency, and making a new room for our enchanting workshop! By the time you've finished making the room, you'll be as good as me at resisting the Why-Try Charm, and then I think we'll have a better starting place for our occlumency studies, since we will have some experience."

Hermione stared at the mound of detritus dubiously.

"Now, you'll be levitating the rocks out of the way, starting from the top obviously, and shrinking them. You can use the Shrinking Charm if you know it, or just transfigure them smaller. I bought some larger cauldrons last week, so just pile the rocks in them once they're shrunk, and we'll dispose of them later."

"You want me to do _all_ of the work?" she repeated, amazed as his gall.

"Well, there wouldn't be any point in me doing it," he explained. "I already did this room, after all. Anyway, there are potions that need brewing, so I'll be keeping busy."

Over the course of the day, Harry had done and said a number of things to earn Hermione's ire, but asking her to build an entire workshop was apparently the last straw. "I can't believe you want me to build a whole _room_!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, just start with a nice, long hallway," he said with a cheery grin. "I'll help you build the room once the hallway is long enough. Don't be mad, though! Remember, this will help us with occlumency _and_ enchanting!"

Harry did help her for a few minutes, giving her a few more pointers both on the mind arts aspect of it and on avoiding collapsing the mound on their heads. Then he let her get to her tunneling work while he directed his own attentions towards the potions that would be needed for the next stages of the curriculum he had devised for their occlumency training.

"Harry," she huffed after a while, sweat dripping down her face. "What is the point of this, again?"

"We're building up your mental fortitude," he explained as he ladled and corked phials of thick honey-like goo. "And giving you an idea of what resisting mind magic feels like. Once you've got this exercise down, we'll move on to the potions I'm making. Then eventually I'll teach you a few neat tricks you can do with mind magic to make a lot of things easier."

After taking ten minutes or so to have some water and get her breathing under control, Hermione resumed her tunnel digging.

Half an hour or so later, Harry became aware of Hermione's incantations suddenly coming more and more rapidly and went over to have a look at what she was doing. Her spells had several rocks levitating simultaneously, making their way leisurely to her cauldron, even as her transfiguration shrank the floating blocks and debris. The way she was doing all of this all at once reminded Harry of an orchestral conductor. As he watched, her pace continued to increase. A minute or so later, though, she abruptly stopped and bent over, holding her knees and breathing heavily.

"That was brilliant," Harry said.

"That was … _exhausting_!" she panted.

"Simultaneous multiple levitations, and transfigurations at the same time!" he gushed. "All while fighting the Why-Try! No wonder you're exhausted – and no wonder why you're the best witch in our year! Come on, you should sit down for a while."

Hermione, face very red and wet, allowed Harry to lead her over to one of the rocks they used as a chair. "Thanks," she breathed. Harry watched as she slowly caught her breath, then gave him a chagrined smile once she was mostly back to normal. "I think I'm out of shape," she said.

"Hmm," Harry said. "I wonder, do people with physically fit bodies do magic better?"

"I think they'd have more stamina," she said. "I just ran out of air … I felt like I was about to faint. My vision got all weird. It was like phys ed all over again. I bet if I got used to running long distances, it would help."

"A plausable theory," he said. "That was some impressive magic, though. It looks like you managed to beat the Why-Try."

"I had some kind of epiphany, I think," she said. "Suddenly it was like the Why-Try wasn't affecting me at all … then I was trying _really_ hard! Like, I was doing the opposite of what the spell wanted me to do, out of sheer stubbornness."

"That makes sense," Harry said. "You've got to be careful. Remember, I almost magically exhausted myself when I built this lab. You've probably done your quotia of magic for the day, I think."

"I got a bit carried away," she admitted. "I think I was trying to prove a point … _I'll try as hard as I like, thank you very much_!"

Harry had to laugh. "That sounds like you," he said. "I think that's the first step, though. The second step would be letting it have no influence over you at all, rather than doing the opposite of what it suggests. That was really good progress for one session, though."

"Thanks," she said tiredly, her eyes shut as she drank more water.

"I've made several potions," he revealed. "But let's put that off until later. You need to recuperate your strength."

"I don't want to hold you back," she said. "Why don't you get started?"

Harry shook his head. "If something goes wrong, I need you to be able to help me out, you know. What will happen to me if you can't levitate me to the infirmary?"

Hermione sent a skeptical glance at the potions that he had neatly labeled and set in the rack. "Are they dangerous?" she asked.

"They're mind magic potions," he pointed out. "Memory-foggers, not as potent as the memory-erasers we made before. I made them intentionally weak, so that we'll have a chance of fighting them off. I'll make stronger ones later."

"Well, I don't want to feel like I'm holding you back, Harry. I mean, it's nice that you want me to catch up with you, but it's really more important that _you_ do this anyway. I think you should go ahead. You've made an antidote, right?"

Harry was secretly rather hoping she might say that, so he relented with a simple shrug. "Of course. The antidote is just here. I suppose you're right, I can't let you have all the fun, can I?" he said, regarding the tunnel she had dug out.

The first potion he wanted to take was a general memory-inhibitor he had just formulated and concocted. If he was right about it, it would make the last few hours hazy in his mind without exactly erasing them. The occlumency practice would then consist of trying to throw off its effects. Harry explained all of this to Hermione, and then added, "I'll need you to explain what I'm supposed to be doing. I probably won't be able to remember why I took the potion. I probably won't remember coming up with the formula, either, so it'll simulate an unknown, foreign attack."

Hermione seemed rather nervous about the whole affair suddenly, but she agreed, taking the antidote in hand just in case.

The potion's acid yellow color belied a surprisingly pleasant fruity flavor. Harry made a mental note to figure out just how to predict the resulting flavor of potions as well as their effects, then realized that he'd never remember that mental note, then everything got confusing for him.

Harry looked around the room, puzzled but not completely disoriented. "I've taken another memory potion," he realized as he spotted Hermione and the changes she'd made to their private lab.

"Yes," Hermione said. "You're practicing occlumency. You've come up with a potion that should make remembering the last few hours a bit difficult."

"I remember … flying rocks, and chopping grombite tails. I think I remember lighting the Torch-Light stones. It's all kind of like … a dream that you forgot the point of."

"Then the potion is working. Remember that dream, Harry," she coached. "Know that it is real and remember it. It might help to sit down and close your eyes."

"I'm not really sure how," he said. "I mean, did I have a plan?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Right," Harry said. "Of course not. All right."

Harry decided that the best way would be to focus on the most prominent memory and work his way out from there. So as he closed his eyes, he tried to focus on the image of the flying rocks.

He remembered them floating around, bobbing about, making a conga-like procession towards a cauldron, and being shrunk slowly during the process. It was like something out of a Disney movie. He had felt inspired and impressed.

He remembered gently crushing the gromite tails with the side of his knife, then rapidly dicing them, until he had a large pile of the foul-smelling things. The smell was what he remembered best – it was an acrid stink that affected the whole face. It reminded him of when he once misread a recipe and poured vinegar onto a hot frying pan and it all boiled away, filling the kitchen with its repulsive vapor. His aunt hadn't let him cook anything for a month after that.

The blurry area all around these images was affected by whatever potion he had made. Something with bromite tails, quite possibly. He thought about the main purpose of bromite tails: they were used in analgesics potions, meant to numb pain but maintain sensation otherwise. He must have used it to make a memory potion that only partially blocked recent memories.

He did his best to isolate and characterize the effects of the potion, and then he pushed.

Then he remembered Hermione, orchestrating the procession of stones. He had been so impressed by it.

He remembered throwing the gromite tails into the cauldron, his face turned away from the stench.

Then he remembered what he was meant to be doing, and screwed up his face as he put his mind to the task.

The fog broke, and he remembered. It was a mundane memory, but it was his again. Brewing the potion – he'd come up with a last-minute modification that made it work his mind over in a spiraling sort of way, which he was rather proud of. He hadn't brewed an antidote at all, thinking to put more pressure on himself to get to the task of breaking its effects. A lot of good that would do, since he didn't know there was no antidote!

"It's not so hard," he said when he noticed Hermione's anxious expression as she watched his progress. She sighed with relief just as soon as he made it clear that he'd done it. "It's just like the Why-Try, really. Well, that is to say, it's different, but it's all about neatly packaging and processing the sensation."

"Packaging and processing," Hermione repeated with thoughtful interest.

"That is to say, first you isolate the sensation, and then you analyse it, and then from there it's a simple matter to disassemble it."

Hermione just shook her head in amazement. "All right," she said. "My turn."

"No, no," Harry said. "First of all, you're magically exhausted, or nearly. Secondly, you still haven't fully mastered the rock-clearing exercise. No, you're not taking this potion today, sorry."

Hermione huffed in irritation, but Harry thought she might have looked just a little bit relieved, too, and she consented without complaint to putting off the next stage until a later date.

"Anyway," Harry said, "there are some exercises we should do, I think."

" _Exercise_?" Hermione repeated, aghast. "I can barely feel my arms, Harry."

Harry laughed. " _Academic_ exercises, obviously," he clarified, causing her to pinken. " _Stromm's Guide_ emphasized the importance of meditation exercises as a precursor to proper occlumency. I think your arms aren't so tired for meditation."

"I suppose I could probably manage to sit still for a while," she agreed. "But how does it work?"

"According to Alfleaf Stromm," Harry said as he opened the book to the relevant section, which was the first section, "for outright beginners, the best practice is to just sit in a comfortable position – it could be cross-legged, or just sitting in a chair, whatever is best – and just focus on your breathing, how it goes in and out. And sort of calmly push your thoughts away, not ignoring them but just trying not to dwell on them or solve whatever problems you're having. Then there are more advanced techniques, too."

"Sit comfortably," Hermione noted as she assumed the cross-legged posture on the floor, then seemed to wonder what to do with her hands before finally clasping them over her lap. "Focus on breathing," she added as she closed her eyes and started doing so. Harry joined her on the floor, sitting far enough away that they wouldn't be aware of the breathing of the other. After a moment, he decided to take off his shoes to make himself more comfortable with his legs crossed.

Now, Harry didn't really understand why meditating was important for occlumency, since from what he understood occlumency was all about ordering the mind, while meditation was all about emptying it. However, as he sat there in silence, doing absolutely nothing but breathing, it slowly dawned on him that this was exactly what he'd been needing to do for a very long time. In his life, he was always either reading or taking apart a machine or coming up with code, or otherwise occupying his mind. To just sit there, and allow his mind to be explicitly unoccupied, was something that he found to be incredibly soothing. Although he wasn't sure if he actually reached a state of proper meditation during that session, he was absolutely positive that it had had some beneficial effect on his psyche to just sort of sit in his humanity like that.

Hermione didn't seem to be having quite as much success as he was having, unfortunately. He heard her moving around frequently, apparently getting fidgety with the passive activity. Eventually Harry opened his eyes again and saw that Hermione had assumed a more comfortable position leaning against the rock behind her, and was staring off into the corner of the room. She was definitely being quite still, but he wondered if that counted or not.

"That's probably enough for now," he said, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"I don't know how you do it!" she lamented. "I mean, you looked like a perfect little Zen Buddhist, sitting there. Have you done this before?"

Harry smiled. "No," he said. But then he remembered how he had just sat there in introspection for about two hours during the creating of BrewPotion, and how he had similarly spent several long hours simply sitting and thinking over problems various times throughout his life. Whether it was in trying to understand how a machine worked, or in trying to design a new bit of code, or more recently, trying out a new spell for the first time, he'd always seemed to just sit there and think about it for a long time before taking any action. So he added, "But I've done similar mental exercises. I'll tell you all about it when you're ready."

"Everything comes so easy for you," Hermione said somewhat bitterly.

Harry quirked a brow at this. "I don't think that's true," he said. "I don't think that there's anything worth doing that's easy. However, I also believe that anything that you deem worth doing should be done efficiently. Efficiency is one of my highest values. I think that's the difference."

" _I_ value efficiency," Hermione said.

"Yes, but not in the same way," Harry said delicately. "You're always trying to find the best way to do a given task. I'm always trying to find the best way to find the best way to do a given task."

Hermione squinted at him. Harry squirmed slightly. Then, before she could tell him just what she thought about _that_ assessment, he said, "You'll understand soon. It's one of those side-benefits to occlumency. You see, I've been doing _something_ similar to occlumency for years, but what I've been doing has had the purpose of bolstering what are considered to be side-benefits of occlumency, rather than actually protecting my mind."

"But _why_? I mean, why have you been doing this, anyway?"

Harry thought about that for a while. Finally he said, "When you were growing up, you had your books. You used to read encyclopedias and practice maths for fun. And no, you didn't tell me that, but I know you did. I spent most of my time taking apart machines and writing programs and coming up with clever solutions to everyday problems. I enjoyed reading, too, but mostly technical books, which I skimmed for relevant information for my current problem. I didn't do maths problems for fun, so it was always about finding the quickest way to get the solution I needed. Over time, my magic helped me to make all of this more and more efficient, because efficiency was always my goal. I always had another project I needed to get to, you see. You and I are very similar people, but the main difference between us that I see is that I never particularly _liked_ learning things the way that you do, but rather I learned everything I needed to learn as quickly as possible in order to get back to work. I rather suspect, though, that your mind isn't entirely unaffected by magic, either."

As Harry gave his little monolog, there were various points at which Hermione looked like she wanted to break in and interrupt, but his statement at the end saw her putting all of the other questions she had brewing aside. "You think that _I_ have been doing occlumency, too?" she repeated.

"No," he said again. "Only something similar. You have a remarkable memory, Hermione. You remember just about everything you've ever read, is that not right? Bear with me," he said as he sorted through his bookbag, finally retrieving _the Ultimate Survival Guide to the Wizarding World for Muggleborns by Muggleborns_ and opening it to a random page. He glanced over it before his eyes landed on an interesting fact. "Hermione, could you tell me, what law was put in place in 1875?"

"That's rather broad," Hermione said. "1875 was the middle of the Resolution Period, so a lot of laws were passed in that year. But I suppose the most important one was probably the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, which forbade wizards and witches under seventeen from doing magic without accredited tutors or teachers present, except in self-defense of course, as well as instituting the practice of placing the Trace on all wands sold to underage wizards and witches."

"And who was the chief sponsor of the law?"

"That would be Wrynbald Blotter," she recalled easily. "He authored the law and, some people say, used dubious means to coerce several Warlocks to help put it through."

Harry just smiled and put the book away, looking for another. After a while he retrieved his copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ , which he had purchased from Wayne for just thirteen sickles after the boy complained that it took up too much space. He said, "I assume you've read this all by now?" and received a nod, then opened it up to a random page. "All right. So, it was only in 1543 that Hogwarts began teaching a History of Magic course. Could you tell me, who was the first History professor?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's an easy one," she said. "The subject was added at the insistence of the youngest-ever at that time and extremely popular Chief Warlock, Henry Bumblepuft, who gave up his Chief Warlock position in the Wizengamot in order to teach the subject himself."

"If only we had such men to teach it today," Harry said sadly. "That's correct," he added as he flipped to another page. "All right, here's a trickier one. When was the last species artificially introduced to the Forbidden Forest?"

Hermione frowned. "Out of the species that are _still_ there?" she clarified.

"No, not necessarily."

"Well, that would be the wampus cat," she said. "Twelve adult specimens were introduced into the forest in 1885, but unfortunately only four survived the first winter, and they never bred."

Harry shut the book with a snap, saying, "Well, I think I've made my point. Hermione, your memory for facts is really remarkable. You've only read these books once each, and yet you know everything they say. I mean this in the nicest possible way when I say, that isn't normal."

Hermione gave him a frown. "You really think that I've been using magic to improve my memory?" she said.

"Yes. Well, I'm making an assumption. It's possible that you're just brilliant, and there's no magic. But were you _always_ like this? I mean, think back to when you were a kid. Was your memory always perfect?"

"No," she said after thinking about it for a while. "It used to frustrate me, actually. Sometimes, it seemed like I could _almost_ but not quite recall something I'd read or heard. Then I would have to go through all my books, or go to the library, just to read it again. Then … after a while, that problem just went away."

"That's a problem that _everyone_ has," Harry pointed out. "Or, nearly everyone. Having a perfect memory is exceedingly rare in the muggle world, but in the wizarding world it's a characteristic strongly associated with skilled occlumens. Believe it or not, even I have had to read something more than once for it to sink in."

"It's mind magic," she breathed, ignoring his arrogant statement as she finally admitted to it.

"Yes," he said. "If my theory is correct – and I strongly believe it is – you and I have both been doing mind magic for years. However, we've been using it for different things. In your case, you've been using it to remember things, while in my case I've been using it to make understanding and solving problems easier. I think that the way that I've been using mind magic is slightly more helpful in learning proper occlumency, but that isn't to say that your way isn't helpful, too. The progress you made today with the hallway demonstrates that you have an aptitude for it."

Hermione boggled on this for a moment, then said, "But still, it isn't _proper_ occlumency."

"No," he agreed, "but I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss it. You see, the witch community has long focused on the defensive aspects of occlumency, and treated the other benefits as perks. But it's my opinion that this isn't necessarily the right way of looking at it. Perhaps having a more efficient mind – essentially becoming more intelligent – should be the goal, and having a defensible mind should be seen as the side-benefit. In other words, what I'm proposing is that we don't merely _study_ occlumency, but reinvent it."

* * *

Thanks for reading!

* * *

Some notes

This entire chapter is basically a dialog between Harry and Hermione. I hope you will forgive me for not making it more action-packed, but I thought it might be nice to have a bit of an interlude here.

Cheers!


	14. Chapter 14

The Tinkerer

Chapter 14

After a day full of activity, including a trip to London, the beginnings of construction on a new workshop, and the beginnings of their study of occlumency, not to mention the exhaustion inherent in the revelation of the matter of Harry's 'spiritual tumor,' he was ill-prepared to pay much attention to anything by dinner time, so it took him a moment to realize what was going on. After most of the students had had their fill of food and were just mingling, Professor Dumbledore stood up at the Head table and rather loudly banged a golden spoon against golden goblet in an interesting pattern. Still this wasn't enough to get Harry's attention, however, so engrossed was he in his thoughts. It was only the sudden silence that fell over the Great Hall that finally alerted him to the fact that something different was happening.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat and called their attention with his customary manner of address for the student body: "Students! Pupils! Learners and scholars!"

Harry was probably the last student to look up at the Headmaster in the entire Hall, and if he wasn't very much mistaken, this hadn't gone unnoticed by the ancient warlock, who briefly regarded Harry with an amused gleam in his eyes before continuing. "As many of you are no doubt aware, among the Hogwarts staff there are two well-renowned professional duelists: Professor Flitwick holds six world titles in the sport, and Professor Snape in his younger years brought two youth division world titles to England. Truly remarkable achievements." By this point, Harry was well aware where this was going, and couldn't help but crack a grin. Apparently, his 'buttering up' of Professor Snape, in Hermione's words, hadn't gone to waste.

"While some may prefer Quidditch, dueling is perhaps the most ancient and most revered sport in the wizarding world – and perhaps the most useful recreational activity, as well. In the interests of not letting this wealth of knowledge go to waste, our lovely Professor Snape has recently come to me with a most wonderful idea," Dumbledore proclaimed, and Harry wondered if Professor Snape's own mother had ever even called him 'lovely,' but Dumbledore had. He tried not to join in the snickering that had descended over much of Gryffindor and some of Hufflepuff. "Dueling clubs will be formed amongst the students of each house, and a dueling tournament will be held!"

This remarkable piece of news was met by pandemonium in the Hall as all four houses exploded in excitement. Even Harry was amazed: what Professor Snape had evidently proposed to Professor Dumbledore was much, much better than what he had had in mind.

Professor Dumbledore allowed the students to express their amazement and excitement for a while before raising his hands to call for order. Once the students were ready to receive details, he explained. "Each of our four wonderful Heads of House will select one student, among the sixth and seventh years who apply for the position no later than one week from today, to serve as that House's dueling team captain. Students seeking to apply for the captaincy are advised that their grades, disciplinary record, and letter of application will all be weighed by their Head of House in the selection process. Once captains are selected next weekend, the captains will then arrange try-outs for positions on the House team.

"Each team will consist of three age brackets. The age brackets will be: first through third years in bracket _gamma_ , fourth and fifth years in bracket _beta_ , and sixth and seventh years in bracket _alpha_. Each House team will consist of four students per age group, with up to two additional students per age group serving as substitutes. Please note that this is a team event, and while each duel will be a one-on-one fight, as per standard rules, it will be the House team with the best overall performance who will take home the Inter-House Dueling Tournament Cup at the end of the year.

"So as to not divert our attentions from final exams, the tournament will be held on the first weekend of February. House dueling team members are advised that their membership in the club is contingent upon continued good grades in their classes. All students are reminded that unsupervised dueling, or casting spells in corridors or other restricted areas, is strictly prohibited. All dueling club meetings must be supervised by a member of the staff. Finally, all students who wish to participate in the clubs are advised to attend the orientation and demonstration, which will take place tomorrow at two-thirty in this very Hall."

Dumbledore tapped his chin with the golden spoon that was still in his hand, then turned to Professor Snape and said, "Am I forgetting anything, Severus?"

Professor Snape stood up and said, "The official rules have been made available in all common rooms," he said. "Attendance of the orientation is _mandatory_ ," he added. Then Professor Snape sat back down.

A moment later, Professor Flitwick scooted his plate out of the way and hopped up onto the table itself, and said, "As the Headmaster has pointed out: although dueling is a one-on-one sport, this tournament is a team event. It is the hope of the staff that members of older years in each team will help the younger members to do their best. We hope that this event will not only foster a friendly sense of inter-House competition and pride, but will also foster helpful tutoring between different age groups. Due to the way that the tournament is organized, team captains are advised to look not only for the best duelists, but also those most capable of passing on their knowledge to the younger members of their respective teams."

After the Charms professor had resumed his seat, Professor Dumbledore looked up and down the staff table, just in case anyone else had something to add. Then he clapped his hands together once, forgetting about the spoon that he was still holding, which went flying. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed joyfully, then sat down, a cheery expression on his face.

Harry's slightly smug expression didn't go unnoticed for long by the other Hufflepuffs, who quickly realized that the dueling tournament had been precipitated by his conversation with Professor Snape.

"Brilliant work, Harry," Ernie said.

Harry winked and stood up on the bench. "Hey Badgers!" he yelled, diverting most of the Hall's attention from their excited conversation-making. "Who's gonna win!"

"Hufflepuff!" seemed to be the consensus among his Housemates.

"Puff, puff, Hufflepuff!" Harry yelled.

His House echoed it back to him.

"We've got the right dueling stuff!" he added.

Some of them repeated his words, some of them just cheered.

Harry sat back down with a big grin on his face, taking in the inspired, determined and joyful expressions of his Housemates.

Across the Hall, Ronald Weasley's older twin brothers seemed inspired by his words, as well. They stood up on their benches, too, and they both yelled, "Hey Gryffindor!"

The Fendors all cheered.

"Let's hear you roar, Gryffindor!"

The Fendors' cheers were replaced with their best lion roars and war cries. One of the seventh-years transfigured his head into a lion's head, yellow except for the startlingly red mane, and let out a roar that was so loud it caused people nearby to cover their ears even while all the dishes nearby rattled.

"That's quite enough!" Professor McGonagall yelled, her voice probably amplified by magic. "There's no magic in the Great Hall, Gnarlby! That's five points from Gryffindor."

Harry was amazed that Professor McGonagall could take the wind out of her own House's sails like that – for all the good it did. The Gryffindors remained absolutely lively. The rest of the staff mostly looked amused or excited, with the exception of Professor Snape, who looked positively perturbed by the sheer amount of noise. Harry noted that Professor Dumbledore was looking at him again, with something between pride and amusement on his face.

If the Slytherins and Ravenclaws had been intending to make their own displays of House pride, Professor McGonagall's disapprobation of the antics of her Fendors must have dissuaded them, because nobody from either of those House tables stood up to rally the troops like Harry and the Weasley boys had rallied their Houses. Instead, the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables had both formed into series of tight little cliques of excited discussion.

Since everyone had been done eating even before the Headmaster made this announcement, it wasn't long before the students began flooding the Entrance Hall, making their ways to their respective sections of the castle, where they could celebrate as boisterously as they liked, not to mention begin strategizing in ernest.

Back in the Common Room, Harry was keenly interested in the discussions taking place among the NEWT students of his House, from whose ranks would be chosen the captain of their fledgling dueling tournament team. He made a point of sitting nearby them in the corner of the Common Room which they had engaged for their debate. Fortunately, none of them seemed to mind his presence there, either because he was considered by many a shoo-in for the Hufflepuff Gamma Squad (despite being a first year), or because of his display in the Great Hall, or because of the rumor that he had had something to do with the inception of the tournament to begin with. Harry sent his friends sheepish looks as they were rudely shooed away by the NEWT-level students, with only himself being permitted to sit in on the talks. Although he only observed and did not comment.

It soon became apparent that there was a number of small controversies among the NEWT students interested in the tournament (probably about eighty percent of sixth and seventh year).

First of all, and overshadowing all of the other issues, there was the matter of the selection of the captain. While Professor Dumbledore had implied that all interested parties should submit their applications to Professor Sprout and allow her to decide, the NEWT students were quick to realize that this process could be manipulated. Some of them were in favor of the members choosing their own captain, and only allowing that chosen person to submit his or her application to Professor Sprout. This precipitated a number of follow-up questions. Assuming that they decided to choose their own captain, what would be the manner of selection? A simple vote, perhaps, or an evaluation of their skills as both a duelist and a leader? On the other hand, if they allowed Professor Sprout to decide, what if they were unsatisfied with the result? Professor Dumbledore had made it clear, after all, that grades and disciplinary records would be taken into account, but realistically there was no reason to think that good grades or being good at staying out of trouble would equate a good duelist or a good leader.

Eventually, after going over these points, the group arrived at the consensus of having a vote to determine the manner of selection of the captain. Henry Rousseau, a seventh year, produced a number of slips of parchment, and it was decided that they would each write either ' _All for One_ ' or ' _Free for All_ ' in order to indicate whether _they_ should pick the captain or allow Professor Sprout to do it, as Dumbledore had indicated. Harry was acknowledged as the most impartial person around, so it was in his hat that the parchment slips were collected, and he was the one that counted them. Some of the voters didn't understand the concept of an anonymous vote and had signed their names, but Harry didn't read that part out loud. When the vote was tallied, there was a clear majority decision to take the selection of the team captain out of Professor Sprout's hands.

"She's a great teacher," Abby Wadsworth summarized, "but that doesn't mean she's the most qualified to make this decision."

Harry was quietly pleased that the Hufflepuffs had decided to stand together and only submit one application to Professor Sprout. He doubted that any of the other Houses would do the same thing, although the Slytherins might.

Of course, this brought back the question of the manner of selection. Several of the Puffs thought that it would be best to hold their own 'informal' dueling tournament in order to evaluate who was most qualified. Others pointed out that not only was this grossly against the rules (which would basically take any Prefect out of the running, since they would have to abstain from competing), but also, while it might help to identify the best duelist, it wouldn't do anything to determine who was the most capable leader.

Unfortunately nobody seemed to have a good idea about how to determine who _would_ be a good leader. Nancy Hardy pointed out that if they allowed each candidate to express their ideas in a debate, and then allowed the House to vote, the result of the vote would indicate who was best at rallying people together. But Maxwell Price was quick to point out the flaw in this idea: although they would know who was the best at getting a majority vote, that was hardly the same thing as leading troops into battle, which was essentially what the captain would be doing. Who's ever heard of a democratically-elected general?

Eventually it was Sappho Stone who put forth what seemed to be the best solution, and which they were all able to agree on.

First, each of the interested candidates would give a demonstration of their skills with a wand, which would consist of a display of all of the most important dueling charms and jinxes (a list of which would be assembled by an impartial person, she added, giving Harry a meaningful look), followed by a short freestyle demonstration, in which they would be allowed to show off whatever they liked. Each captain-candidate's demonstration would be graded by a panel of fourth and fifth year judges, consisting of those who were interested in being part of the Beta Squad.

The top fifty-percent from that section would then go on to the debate section. They would be given a chance to express their personal view on why they would make a good leader for the House dueling team, and would be allowed to ask each other pointed questions, as well as be required to answer questions from their fourth and fifth year evaluators. Once the debating was done, all of Hufflepuff would take a vote.

Sappho Stone's well-thought out and well-expressed concept of a two-stage selection process was met with such general approval by the group that there was no need to take a vote on it.

In order to give the Puffs a bit of an edge by selecting their team captain early, it was decided that all of this would take place the following day – "Transfiguration essay be damned!" announced a boy called Noppers. So, the sixth and seventh years broke up their group in order to take a census on who, among the fourth and fifth years, was interested in the dueling club and in being a judge in the captain selection process.

Harry broke from the group to find Hermione, who he discovered resting quite comfortably in one of the many couches around the Central Hearth, reading an enchanting book that was definitely not among the four that they had selected.

"Hullo," he said somewhat tiredly.

Hermione read to the end of the paragraph before acknowledging him. "Oh, hey," she said, looking up.

"A lot of excitement today," Harry said, reflecting on the series of events that had made up one of the more interesting days since he had come to Hogwarts.

Hermione just hummed in agreement, her eyes darting back down to the book that she was evidently eager to get back to. Harry reached into his pocket and retrieved one of the slips of parchment that the sixth and seventh years had used to vote for the manner of selection. Placing the slip of parchment in her book as a bookmark, he gently shut it. "We've still got things to do tonight," he reminded her.

"Right, of course. Your _club_ ," she said.

"Yes, but not just that," Harry said. He suppressed a yawn, which made his whole body shudder. He could only imagine how tired Hermione must be, considering the amount of magic she had worked earlier. Still, there was work to be done. "The sixth and seventh years have given me some homework," he explained. "It's due tomorrow morning."

Hermione gave him a most curious look, but he didn't elaborate. "Let's find Becca. I think she can help, too."

Becca Albright, and the rest of their merry band of mischief-makers, had evidently already indicated to the older students whether or not they were interested in joining the dueling club (other than Frankie Wooten, who was a third year). As it turned out, each of the girls wanted to join the club and had allowed themselves to be roped into being judges, despite their reservations about the additional chore. Since it wasn't quite curfew – and since, in any case, all of the upper years were quite preoccupied, so it was doubtful any Prefect would notice them in any case –, the group of fourth year girls, plus Harry, Hermione, Ernie and of course Frankie, decided that it might be nice to have a bit of peace and quiet and tea in the kitchens, so they slipped out.

"So, Harry," Becca once they had taken their seats at the largest table in the little dining area within the kitchens, "how did you escapade go?"

Harry smirked, unsurprised that Becca had noticed his absence. "Quite well," he said. "Hermione and I got a lot done."

Becca sent Hermione a long, speculative look. Hermione stuck out her chin, apparently in an expression of the fact that she was not one to be intimidated by anyone. Finally Becca smiled and said, "I think we can work with this."

Harry was rather relieved that this meant that he didn't have to go through the process of apologizing for not asking permission before showing Hermione their escape and re-entry routes, or for basically recruiting new members without Becca's approval. But still, he said, "You approve? I mean, I went over your head."

Becca shook her head with one of her friendly but slightly dangerous grins and said, "It's all right because you're my protégé," she explained. "Now if _Ernie_ did something like this …" she added, giving the boy a glare that he probably thought was very serious, judging by his reaction, but Harry was quite sure was a joke.

"Your protégé, am I?" Harry repeated, surprised. He knew that Becca had developed a bit of a soft spot for him, but he didn't know that she held him in quite such high regard as to call him that.

"For lack of anyone better," Becca said with a wink.

"So, that's it then?" Hermione interrupted. "I'm a member? I haven't even said anything."

"That's right," Becca said, as if in realization, "there is something you have to say. The Oath."

Tosha, who seemed to have assumed the role of Oath-taker within the group, took over. "The Oath of Excellence," she said. Harry suspected that she had made up the name on the spot. "Don't worry, you won't die if you break the Oath."

Hermione looked at Harry in alarm. Harry gave her a reassuring grin. He said, "Ernie and I took the Oath already. It's just a formality. When Tosha says you won't die, that means that it isn't magically-binding or anything."

"It needn't be," Tosha said. "What binds you to the Oath is your Puff Pride. Nothing more, and _nothing_ less. In all of the years that our organization has existed, there has never been an Oath-breaker, because we are _Hufflepuffs_."

Hermione nodded seriously, understanding that despite it not being a magically-binding oath, it was nonetheless a most important ritual of trust and faith. "All right," she said. "I'll do it."

Once Hermione had sworn to never reveal the secrets of the disciples to any unsavory type, or any authority figure, Harry said, "I was hoping everyone here would help me with this bit of homework."

Samantha groaned. "We're not a study group," she said.

Morgan rolled her eyes at Sam's reaction. She said, "I doubt that Harry would bring us an essay he was struggling with, or something like that."

Harry inclined his head diagonally down-left and in, appreciating the faith she had in him. "On the contrary," he said. "This pertains to the matter of the dueling club."

Phyllis took her turn to groan. She said, "I'm already sick of hearing about the dueling club."

"Be that as it may – and I agree –," Tosha said, "our youngest member – I think? –" she got nods from Ernie and Hermione, who confirmed that they were older than Harry, which made him surprisingly embarrassed, "has come to us for a reason," she concluded.

Harry decided to express himself in the ceremonial way that the Disciples sometimes elected to speak in, so as to hopefully get some enthusiasm for what was a rather mundane task. "Oh ever wise and dashed beautiful Disciples of Our Lady," he began. "I have been tasked with the – er, task – of compiling a list of common defense spells, which our upperclassmen must demonstrate their capability in, in order to acquire your votes for their captaincy of our winning dueling tournament team. I ask you, my clever and cute colleagues, to assist me in this task – for it must be completed by morning," he finished lamely.

"Well, that's simple enough," Tosha said, apparently disappointed.

Harry got out a quill and parchment and began writing down the spells that the other Disciples of Our Lady suggested. What would have taken him hours to research was reduced to just a few minutes thanks to their experience, so he was terribly grateful. Harry soon had a list of ten spells which the upperclassmen would be asked to demonstrate their competency in.

That task being done, Morgan called for desert, and the group settled in to enjoy a nice lemon meringue pie.

"So I've been thinking," Samantha said after a while.

"Oh, no," Phyllis muttered.

Samantha ignored her. She said, "Maybe it was wrong of me to take advantage of that Lee Jordan boy like that. I mean, he's a sweet enough boy."

Morgan looked at her in amazement before glancing at Frankie. Frankie, on the other hand, just raised his eyebrows in curiosity, evidently having some faith in her. Harry and Ernie grinned at the interplay, while Hermione just looked bewildered by the show.

"So anyway, I've been _thinking_ ," she said again, now shooting a brief glare at Phyllis and Morgan both. "Maybe we should do something nice for him, to make up for the sofa."

"And chairs," Morgan was quick to point out, "and table."

"What's this all about?" Hermione asked in an undertone.

Ernie explained: "Last week, Sam tricked Lee Jordan of Gryffindor into letting her into their Common Room. She stole some furniture from them, and left Lee knocked out in a compromising position."

Harry, who hadn't known that last detail, snorted.

Hermione, to her credit, only looked mildly outraged, and didn't voice her opinion. Becca, however, was quick to notice her expression. "Something the matter, Hermione?" she asked sharply.

"I'm not really in favor of _stealing_ ," she said uncomfortably.

Becca shot Harry a look which clearly said that if there was a problem, it was his to deal with. Harry said, "Hermione, it's not really stealing. More sort of redistributing the comfortable furniture from the gullible Fendors to the more deserving Puffs. Besides, I'm sure it's already been replaced. Professor McGonagall can make a sofa as easily as we breathe – but you know, she only uses that talent for her own House's benefit. Anyway, it's Lee Jordan's fault for letting someone from another House into the Common Room, which you're not really supposed to do."

"It's just a harmless prank," Ernie pointed out. "Besides, we're going to make it up to Jordan. Right, Sam?"

" _So_ right," she said with a rather diabolical smirk. "You see, the way I see it, after striking out with me so sadly, Lee will be more than glad if another girl – or two or three – express some interest in him." The eyes of all assembled, bar Hermione who looked nervous, glinted at the implication. "To that end, what I propose is that we ensure that several girls are enamored with him. Starting with Pudgly."

"Pudgly?" Harry asked.

Tosha explained: "Putrice Budgley is a particularly … er, well, she's a fourth year in Gryffindor House who's not known for good looks or for having a lady-like temper."

"I see," Harry said, smiling.

"Momento in hand?" Becca inquired.

Sam Fleck reached into her robe and retrieved a phial, which she showed off to the assembled Disciples. Clearly visible inside were several short, black hairs. "I wouldn't knock out a boy without taking a momento," she said proudly.

Becca nodded. "Of course, Sammy," she said fondly. "Right. Tomorrow at breakfast would be good. If there are no objections?"

Hermione said, "Wait, I think I missed something. What exactly are you going to do to Lee Jordan?"

"Oh, nothing of course!" Sam said, affecting the appearance of one surprised by the notion. "We'll only be doing something to Pudgly."

Realization dawned, and Hermione looked amazed by the implications. Harry grabbed her hand and gave her a tight squeeze in order to indicate that it wouldn't be prudent to express her misgivings at the present time. Hermione's face, when she looked at him, seemed to tell him that all of her negative feelings towards this whole affair had just been solidly redirected away from the girls and onto his person. Harry tried not to shrink under her glare. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the girls were all quietly laughing at his misfortune, although Becca's eyes showed something more critical under her humor.

"Puff up," he told her in an undertone.

Her glare sharpened for a moment, but then she firmed her lips and nodded.

Becca was watching this exchange keenly. While she had accepted Hermione's presence without complaint at the start, it seemed that her behavior had inspired within Becca certain reservations about her qualifications. However, at the conclusion of the little drama, she nodded in apparent satisfaction. "That's right," she said. "Puff up! I like that, by the way, Harry. All right, any other business?"

Everyone looked around at the others, and it seemed that nobody had any particularly pressing vendettas to take care of, or other Disciples business to address. Becca shrugged and said, "Well, let's get back before curfew, then."

On the way back, Samantha Fleck took Hermione by the arm and seemed to be giving her beauty tips, promising (despite Hermione's obvious disinclination) to give her a make-over in the morning. Harry was glad that Sam hadn't taken any offense to Hermione's expression of her reservations with regards to their Lee Jordan plan, or at least was trying to overcome any animosity that might have resulted.

It was Frankie that pulled Harry and Ernie to one side to have a private word of his own with the other boys. Frankie said, "You know Harry, even though Becca said it was all right, you're not really supposed to be inviting new people to join without her approval. It's even in the vows. I won't say that you broke the Oath, but it's definitely a fine line."

"I know," the youngest Disciple said. "However, it was unavoidable. With Ernie too –" and he shot Ernie an apologetic look "– Ernie caught me sneaking out, and I decided that the best thing was to let him in on it, instead of lying. Ernie's not an easy guy to lie to."

Ernie snorted. "Not when your excuse is always that you need to use the bathroom. Honestly, if I believed you every time you said that, I'd have serious concerns about your digestive system by now."

"Right," Harry said, embarrassed by his inability to come up with any good cover stories. "Well. Anyway, with Hermione it was similar. We needed to sneak out of the castle, and so I needed to take her through the passages that Becca showed me before. Anyway, she's also really hard to lie to. It made more sense to just come clean and bring her into the fold. Otherwise, she would have gone snooping, and discovered all about it herself in short order."

Frankie Wooten nodded slowly. "I guess that's all right, then," he said. "But look. Maybe you should take some time and talk to Becca about other people that you might be _forced_ to invite. Before you actually invite them, that is."

Harry scratched the back of his head with a guilty expression on his face. "You're right," he said.

"No he isn't," Becca said, appearing on Harry's other side (and pushing Ernie out of the way) suddenly. "As I said before, Harry is my protégé, and I expect him to take over for me once I graduate. Therefore, naturally, he can do anything he wants. But Harry, Frankie's right about one thing: you had better be careful. If even a single person talks, or is indiscreet and gets discovered, that's sixty years of tradition down the drain, you know? So don't fuck it up."

Harry nodded seriously. Even if it was just a group of pranksters, it was also an important legacy, and a fundamental part of what made the castle wonderful (at least to Harry), and he was determined not to be the one to ruin it. Over the next few days, he would be carefully considering whether or not it would be prudent to carry a few memory potions around with him, just in case.

While Harry had been an essentially amoral person before coming to Hogwarts – having never really been in any sort of moral dilemma more serious than whether or not to lie to or manipulate his relatives, and not really having any reason to contemplate morals –, in the short time that Harry had attended wizarding school, he had come to take the values of Hufflepuff very seriously.

Chief among the values of their House was loyalty: loyalty to one's family, loyalty to one's friends, loyalty to one's nation, loyalty to one's own self, and loyalty to the House were all considered very important, but the loyalty he felt to the Disciples was no less important than any of these. Over the centuries, various philosophical types of Hufflepuffian origin had written numerous treatises and manifestos specifically about the importance of loyalty, and about how to resolve the issues that sometimes cropped up when one was loyal to different things which were in conflict with each other, and about the dangers of being swindled into loyalty to any person or group which did not consider loyalty an important trait, and so forth. While Harry hadn't actually _read_ any of these treatises or manifestos, he had nonetheless come to have his own understanding of what loyalty was – and he was loyal to that personal concept of loyalty, fuzzy though it still remained.

So it was with a great deal of hidden meaning that Harry told Becca, "I won't fuck it up."

Despite the busyness of the day, Harry and Hermione still did have one more thing to at least attempt to accomplish: it was time once more for another Chinese lesson, something which Harry was beginning to dread. While he was nearly as good at Hermione at remembering the words, both their pronunciation and their lovely little characters, he had significantly more difficulty than she did in making his mouth make the appropriate sounds. Finally, watching him struggle, Hermione came up with a piece of advice that she thought would help: "Audiate, Harry. Hear the sound in your mind, then speak."

Audiation was something that Harry had heard about in the context of music, but having no real interest in music, he had never really intentionally done it. "Of course I hear it," he muttered irritably.

"No, Harry. _Really_ hear it."

Harry scrunched up his lips to one side merely as an alternative to rolling his eyes, which he didn't think would go over well. With said lop-sided frown affixed, he shut his eyes, and tried to hear the sounds that had been produced by the book's author, Wu. Although he could hear it in his head, it still didn't sound right! It was incredibly frustrating. After a few moments of this struggle, he said, "Let me try something."

What this called for, he thought, was a cheat.

Harry flipped the book to one of the first pages, where it said all of the different sounds of the language, and showed their phonetic symbols (some of which he didn't really understand, but that wouldn't matter in a moment). In his mind, Harry assembled an array of sound symbols for each consonant, then went back and assembled a separate list of each vowel with every possible tone. Once these lists were carefully constructed, Harry went through and tapped each and every symbol in the book with his wand several times, making Wu pronounce the sound of it over and over again. It was with the voice of Wu's gradually more impatient pronunciations of the sounds that he filled the final column of his mental array. It was, he reflected, the first time that he had built a such a mental construct which incorporated human speech noises in a deliberate way, but it was otherwise not unlike the list of potions ingredients and their properties, or the array of classmates and what he knew about them, or any of the other such lists he had created. (Harry made a mental note to amend his list of personae dramatis to include their voices, which he now realized had not been properly cataloged.)

The next step was to create a tiny little mental program which simply assembled those speech-noises together into syllables, and then caused him to speak them.

This bit proved rather more tricky, since he had never before attempted to create a mental program which directly controlled his actions. It took him a while to figure out how to connect the mental result directly to his mouth, and somewhere in the middle of the process he thought it might be better, anyway, if he didn't cut his conscious mind out of it. However, this thought was easily thrown out when he realized that of course his conscious mind didn't have any direct influence on his pronunciation of English, either, and so he persevered.

Eventually, Harry opened his eyes, and was met by Hermione's worried brown eyes as she regarded him. "You've done it again, haven't you?" she asked.

Harry said, " _Nĭ hăo_ … _w_ _ǒ shì yīngguórén_."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly. The portrait of Wu in Harry's book, which was shut, made a strange strangled noise. "Harry," Hermione sound delicately. "You sound like a Chinese robot."

Harry frowned at that. "Well, it needs some work," he admitted. "But the tones were right, werent they?"

"Er … I think? It was a bit distracting, hearing you speak like a robot. But yes, I think the tone was right. Well, it's just like I would expect a Chinese robot to sound like if it decided to say, 'hello, I'm an Englishman,' but that doesn't really seem like something a Chinese robot would say. Harry, are you all right?"

"It just needs a bit of smoothing," Harry said, waving his hand to display his lack of concern. He'd obviously continue working on the PronounceChinese program, which would eventually be converted into a class for a larger SpeakChinese program, for many years, so it was of little consequence that the very first version of it wasn't perfect. "Trust me, I know all about smoothing."

Hermione looked at him as though he were an anomalous specimen (which he rather was) and said, "Harry, I'm not sure if you can anti-alias human languages. It's not exactly like pixels on a computer screen."

"Just watch me," he said. "Or better yet, dare me."

Hermione shook her head in exasperation. "Well, I can't deny that it was an improvement from your earlier attempts," she admitted. "But … well, instead of listening to an Englishman speak Chinese like a beginner, I've just listened to an English-designed robot say, in perfect but odd Chinese, that it was an Englishman."

"An improvement," Harry agreed, ignoring the rest. "Let's get conversational," he added, settling himself in for what would be his first ever enjoyable Chinese group study session.

After that, they had what must have been their most productive Chinese session yet, despite the fact that they were both rather sleepy, and despite the fact that Harry's mechanical but almost perfect pronunciation was rather creepy. Harry's suddenly excellent pronunciation meant that he had only to learn the rules of grammar and memorize a few thousand items of vocabulary and their respective characters in order to achieve mastery – trivial tasks with the mental cantrips at his disposal, but nonetheless things which he would have to spend time on. And he supposed that he would probably have to figure out a way to make his voice a bit less robotic, but that was of peripheral importance. For now, he was pleased that he was able to make the indisputably correct sounds.

After his previous frustration with the language, Harry's new ability to pronounce things correctly had him actually enjoying learning the language for the first time, and for the first time he didn't feel secretly resentful of Hermione's insistence that they should learn a foreign language, or secretly foolish for his own decision that if they were going to learn a foreign language then it should be a _very_ foreign one, rather than some cousin language like Dutch or Spanish. In fact, he reflected with no small amount of smugness, if they had chosen an easier language to study, then he probably would never have discovered an easier way to study it!

So pleased was he, that he insisted that they kept at it until Hermione was just about asleep, and he had to enlist the help of Megan to tug her along to bed.

Harry, for his part, seemed to have gone past the point of feeling sleepy, and stayed up until the wee hours of the morning in self-study of what was suddenly his newest passion. In fact, he didn't ever actually quite _stop_ memorizing all of the basic words in the dictionary at the end of Wu Liling's _Mandarin Made Manageable Magically_ , but rather was startled when it was suddenly morning, and became aware of the fact that he had fallen asleep on the couch by the hearth with the book on his lap. Grateful that nobody had seen him in that compromising position, Harry made his way to his suite's bathroom and began his morning rituals with heavily crusted eyes.

Ernie, as per his apparent custom, rose early, too. While Harry was in the showers, he heard his friend call, "No rest for the wicked, eh?" Harry tried to formulate a response, but just lodged into a coughing fit instead.

Indeed there was no rest for Harry, whether or not that indicated his wickedness. At breakfast, he was approached by a member of the group of sixth and seventh years with whom he had had conferenced the evening prior.

"Have you made a list yet?" Noppers, a boy whose actual name Harry wasn't aware of, asked with a certain bright-eyed eagerness that both belied his sixteen or seventeen years of age – for Harry didn't know or care – and offended Harry's own newfound, sleepy ideology that insisted that eggs and strong tea must come before business.

"List?" he repeated blearily.

"The list of spells!" Noppers exclaimed, flailing his arms about wildly. Harry felt the beginnings of respect for the boy's eagerness only shortly before they were crushed by his disgust with the same boy's same eagerness. "The spells for the thing!"

Harry stared blankly at the older boy for a very long time, right up until Noppers looked like he was about to say something else, before he muttered, "Obviously."

"Well, let's see it!" the older student very nearly screamed.

Harry, gritting his teeth, said with a great amount of annoyance, "Sometimes, the early bird is just cold."

Noppers looked at him with wide, puzzled, perplexed eyes. Harry, in his sleepy state, prayed to God that the boy wouldn't be captain, and then remembered that he didn't believe in God, so he decided to just curse the boy if he was made captain.

"Cold?" he repeated, his confusion expressed by every inch of his body as he not only turned his head to one side, but also slightly twisted everything from his shoulders to his knees.

Frowning, Harry said, "Don't you get it, Nop?"

Noppers shook his head.

Harry, noticing that many of the sixth and seventh years had by now assembled for the morning meal, conjured up the requisite energy to stand up on the bench and announce to all who were interested in hearing: "Puffs of sixth and seventh year, listen up! The spells required will be announced at the event, and not before! Asking me for early warning will only piss me off! That goes for my friends as well as –" Harry glanced down at Noppers "– anyone else! Distracting me from my tea and eggs will not help you! So just bugger off!"

Noppers may not have been able to take a hint, but a public calling out on his shit seemed to do some good, for the boy quickly went back to his group of friends. Harry saw one of them hit him on the back of the head before he turned his attention towards the sausages that had just appeared on the table. Harry rather greedily forewent the tradition of forking them individually and instead lifted the platter and dropped several onto his plate.

After being fed and having had his tea, Harry was feeling much more awake, as well as feeling just a bit bad for his treatment of the upperclassman – but then he realized that if he had kept letting the boy interrupt his breakfast, he never would have been fed, so he never would have felt bad. Rather than turning his mind round and round this breakfast paradox, he decided that he didn't care.

The Hufflepuffs, as a House, were the earliest risers in the castle. It probably didn't hurt that breakfast was just a short fifty yards or so from their beds, whereas all of the other Houses had significantly longer treks to make, but the Puffs preferred to think that it all came down to their earnest and hardworking tendencies. In any case, as a general rule, nine out of ten Puffs would be present for breakfast by the time that about one in two of the other houses wandered in. Puffs enjoyed the freshest food, and tended to eat quite a bit of it. They also had the earliest recreational activities, and tended to have quite a lot of them. These points were all matters of pride.

Given those prideful facts, it should have come as no surprise to Harry that the upperclassmen had decided that eight o'clock sharp was just about the right time to start their selection process. So at about a quarter to eight, Harry joined the throng of Puffs making their way outside to the Quidditch pitch, where the events would take place.

Sleepers-in would be disqualified automatically.

Professor Sprout, who was known to wake at about four in the morning in order to attend to some of her more unruly plants, was not only wide awake but also already covered in dirt up to her elbows by the time that the students arrived at the pitch. She was also joined by Miss Eltwright, Madam Pomfrey's assistant. Professor Sprout had no issue at all with the decision being taken out of her hands, as it transpired. Like Harry, she saw it as an expression of Puffian values and the start of a right good tradition. She was more than happy to take to the sidelines as a supervisor over the decision-making process, which apparently she had been fully informed of.

After a remarkably short speech by Professor Sprout, which consisted mostly of phrases like "we're all here for the same reason" and "we'll stand together no matter what" and "be proud of you, but most of all be proud of the group" and "let's all let do our best to help everyone do their best," and so forth – all things that Harry agreed with but, having them said in a rapid-fire succession like that, he couldn't help but feel a bit bored by – Harry found himself suddenly thrust onto a little stage.

"Right, then," he said nervously. Professor Sprout cast an amplification spell on his throat, and he repeated himself, saying "Right." Marveling at the sound of his own voice being blasted so loudly, Harry then cleared his throat – making a most horrible sound that caused several people to cover their ears – and said, "Er. Well, I've been tasked with compiling a list of spells. That is to say, spells relevant to dueling." Harry briefly closed his eyes and tried to center himself, and get into the spirit of public speaking that he used to get into during newspaper interviews, and continued: "Some of these people think they can lead us into battle! Some of them can! Some of them can't, though. So we've come up with a process of selection, in order to determine the captain of our fledgling dueling team. The selection process takes place in two stages, and I've been tasked with facilitating the first stage! So, here's how it goes: I have a list of common spells used in dueling, and it will be up to these candidates to demonstrate their proficiency in them. After that, they'll all have a chance to show off their unique skills in a freestyle event! As we run down my top-secret list, each of these candidates will earn points based on their showing. Later, during the freestyle event, our panel of judges, selected from fourth and fifth year, will be grading our candidates performances and giving their own scores. At the end of all of this, half of our candidates will say _adieu_ , and the other half will go on to the next stage of of the selection process. Are you ready, Hufflepuff?"

Some people cheered, but it was subdued. Harry said, "Wake up, Hufflepuff! I said, are you ready for this?"

The cheering was significantly louder. Apparently, accusing a badger of the sin of sloth was a damn fine way to stir her into action. Harry proceeded: "All right. And are you ready, captain candidates? Show me your wands!"

The candidate hopefuls, who were all lined up behind Harry's little stage, displayed much more enthusiasm than the spectators, raising their wands, some shooting out sparks.

"Excellent!" he said. "All right!" Harry reached into his robe pocket to retrieve the list of spells. Harry regarded the list and quickly realized that there might be a small problem. "Oh!" he said. "And we'll need twelve volunteers! Doesn't matter who! Come on up, people!"

Harry realized that he couldn't use the fourth and fifth years who would be judging the freestyle event as target dummies, since it might have given them biases in favor of or against certain candidates, having been cursed by them. It was Harry's slightly pleading look to his friends that managed to coerce all of first year to come down to the pitch as volunteers. Among the rest of the Puffs in the audience, there were enough people who either weren't concerned with their health, wanted to be helpful, or just wanted to be part of the show, to form a sufficient number of targets. "All right," he said. "Partner up. One target – that is to say, volunteer – to a candidate! Line up across from them, ten yards or so away. Okay. Now, let's start with the disarming charm! Volunteers! Wands out! Give them a little kiss, because they're going bye-bye! Now, steady grip on those wands, volunteers – hold it like you mean it! Okay, candidates. Disarm!"

Professor Sprout, as it turned out, was a deft hand at charms despite it not being her main discipline. She was able to charm the regular Quidditch scoreboard to keep track of the proceedings of the demonstration instead of keeping score for ballsports.

For each captain candidate who successfully disarmed their target without sending the target flying, Harry hastily decided that one point would be awarded, and if the wand then ended up in the captain candidate's own offhand, that earned two points. If they sent the volunteer careening off into the turf, but managed to also remove them of their wand, that got two thirds of one point.

After the Disarming Charm, Harry had the captain candidates display a number of other harmless jinxes and hexes which the Disciples thought would probably make up the majority of the arsenals on display in the tournament: the Revulsion Jinx, the Silencing Charm, the Impediment Jinx, and so forth.

For the Stunning Spell, those that successfully knocked out their target received one point, while those who could then _Ennervate_ the target received two points. A surprising number of the candidates had learned the Stunning Spell but never bothered with the Reviving Spell, so it was fortunate that Professor Sprout and Miss Eltwright were standing by.

"This is good practice for you, too, volunteers," Harry said somewhat sheepishly, regarding the flustered and irritated expressions a few of the human targets were wearing – although some of them also looked pleased, for reasons Harry couldn't understand. "After all, it's important to know what these spells feel like! Don't worry, there's nothing dangerous on the list!"

Harry mentally crossed out one or two spells from the list.

He had to once again get a bit creative when it was time to demonstrate the Shield Charm. For this, he had all of the volunteers except Algernon Silvestris, one of the few sixth years who had no interest in the captaincy, leave the staging area. Algernon was tasked with attempting to first use a Jelly-Legs Jinx, then a Disarming Spell, and finally a Stunning Spell, while the captain candidates were required to maintain a Shield Charm. They received one half point for each spell successfully deflected. Algernon would then pummel them with a series of Stunning Spells until their Shield Charm collapsed, and the candidates would earn one third of one point for each they managed to deflect.

"All right," Harry said once they had gone through the entire short list. "It's looking pretty close so far, with two candidates having perfect scores. But this was just a sort of preliminary to the main event! Next up is the freestyle demonstration. Are our judges ready?"

At some point during the proceedings, someone had erected a rather unsturdy-looking table to serve as the judges' area and had rounded up the thirteen fourth and fifth year students who had signed up for the job. Now, in order to buy himself a few moments to decide how the scoring for the freestyle event would take place, Harry had the ever-helpful Algernon Silvestris make sure that each of the fourth and fifth years knew the spell to make numerals of fire appear out of their wands.

"Okay," he said once it looked like everyone was ready. "So here's how this part works. Each of the candidates will be given just three minutes to demonstrate their skills with a wand. They may use any charms or transfiguration they like, although of course it would be prudent for the candidates to make it look like something useful in a fight. Once their time is up, our judges will indicate a score between zero and nine. All of the judges' scores will be averaged, then multiplied by three, and that will be the amount of points the candidate earns! Everyone understand?"

Actually, many of the people present seemed to think that it was a bit too complicated. Harry assured everyone that he had thought about it long and hard and had determined that it was the most logical formula to use, which was a lie that seemed to convince most of the Puffs that he knew what he was doing.

Since Harry hadn't bothered to think ahead about how to determine the order in which the candidates would do their demos, he came up with a method on the spot: "We'll start with the lowest scorers and work our way up! In case of two or more people having the same score, we'll go reverse-alphabetically." That sounded like a pretty wizardly way of doing things, Harry noted with pride.

While the first freestyle demonstration was taking place, Harry would make a quick and dirty little mental program that would save him from actually having to do the maths to come up with the final scores by hand. It was a very simple adaptation of some of the mental algorithms he had used countless times in the past.

The lowest scorer of the lot, Harry was not at all surprised to see, was none other than that same Noppers who had bothered him at breakfast, and whose name listed on Professor Sprout's very nicely charmed scoreboard was 'Nathaniel Glopswitch.' Noppers was both a sloppy and unoriginal spellman: after conjuring a big block of wood, he proceded to riddle it with most of the same spells that he had already demonstrated in the first half, plus one or two oddball spells. After a minute or so, he seemed to have exhausted his internal grimoire, and settled on repeating the same thing over again until he ran out of time – something which caused Harry to watch the hourglass Professor Sprout had produced in bored dismay.

Once the time was finally up, Harry called out, "All right, Noppers! That's enough. Let's hear a round of applause for Mr. Glopswitch, everyone!" The Hufflepuffs were a good audience: despite Noppers' poor showing, he received a more than polite round of applause and even a few cheers for his efforts.

The judges, Harry was pleased to note, were a little bit more cynical about it. Harry quickly entered the numbers into his mental program and ran it: "All right," he said. "The scores are in. Three zeros, two ones, two twos, three threes, two fours, and one very generous six adds up to twenty-nine points from our thirteen judges: multiply by three, then divide by thirteen, and we get six and nine thirteenths points! Let's have another round of applause for Mr. Glopswitch," Harry added, trying to deflect the strange looks that were being given to him by absolutely everyone in attendance. Maybe, he thought, he should have come up with a simpler scoring system after all, just to avoid outing himself as a maths whiz in front of everyone. How embarrassing.

Professor Sprout, after giving him a long look, was reduced to asking, "What's the score, then?"

Noppers had garnered from somewhere during the demonstration one third of one point and one half of one point, giving him a score that ended in five sixths. Professor Sprout was evidently having trouble figuring out how to a score ending in nine thirteenths to that. Harry said, "That gives Noppers a total score of twenty-seven and forty-one seventy-eighths!" Professor Sprout gave him a disbelieving shake of the head, but made the appropriate change to the scoreboard.

At least it was still in fractions. Harry didn't think that the wizarding world had much in the way of a concept of floating-point precision, although he hadn't started studying arithmancy yet.

Harry was glad that he had decided to start with the lowest scorers and work up from there. It gave the whole event a sort of dramatic satisfaction that wouldn't have been present if they had done things the other way round. Almost every single candidate raised the bar from what had been done before them, although each and every one of them also made it very personal. It really was quite a sight. Harry's interest was especially piqued when he noticed that while many of the first freestyle demonstrators had relied primarily on charms, hexes, and such, as they got into the cream of the crop there was a subtle shift, and not only did the charms get increasingly off the wall, but also more and more transfiguration was being used. It had never really occurred to Harry before, but transfiguration was an incredible asset in a duel: the sixth and seventh years conjured everything from mean-looking dogs to well-armed stone knights, and showed off just how destructive these constructs could be by having them rip apart conjured fodder of all kinds – which sent wood, stone, blood and slimy ectoplasm flying everywhere, to say nothing of the damage being done to the lawn. Nothing Professor Sprout couldn't fix in a jiffy, Harry hoped.

Sappho Stone, the brilliant seventh year who had come up with the whole concept of this event, emerged as the leader of the pack after conjuring a tiger and what seemed to be a grizzly bear. She then earned many gasps and a few screams from the spectators when she had the conjured animals attack herself rather than conjured fodder. She held them off with some kind of super-charged Shield Charm which materialized as a bronze hemisphere in front of her, and beat them back with a battery of highly-destructive Reductor and Blasting Curses. Those who understood a bit of animate transfiguration all knew that she was never in any real danger, since it would take a supreme lapse of attention to be devoured by one's own conjuration, but it was nevertheless an impressive show of her transfiguration abilities, as well as her skillful hand at advanced self-defense charms. Once the animals were thoroughly dead, she used the remaining time available to her to show off some enthralling elemental magic: a dragon made of ice and a knight made of fire were pitted against each other in a battle to the death for her amusement, scorching the lawn and sending chunks of ice, splashes of water and blasts of steam everywhere. For that blood-pumping performance, Sappho became the only contender to get all nines from the judges, earning her the best possible score of twenty-seven points. Harry noted that even Professor Sprout seemed stunned by the seventeen-year-old girl's skill and showmanship.

Once it was all over, Harry said, "All right. Well, that concludes the magic demonstration portion of the selection process. After we all enjoy Professor Snape's orientation at two thirty this afternoon – and do remember, it's mandatory to attend –, the top fifty percent from this stage will participate in the debate stage. Then it will be up to each and every member of Hufflepuff to decide, based on what you saw here and what the contenders say during the debate, who deserves to be our captain! The candidates who've made it to the debate stage are: Sappho Stone, Anthony Witly, Abigail Wadsworth, Lindsey Sparrow, Henry Rousseau, and Michael Sparrow!

"Okay everyone, see you all at the orientation, and then at four o'clock this afternoon in the Common Room for the debate! Don't miss it!"

Harry was relieved that he could finally drop the game show host routine. As soon as he had disabled the _Sonorus_ , he let out a great sigh of relief, then skipped off before anyone could ask him to help clean up the disaster zone that he had played no small part in turning the Quidditch pitch into. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be any lasting damage, but the Gryffindor Quidditch team, who was just taking to the pitch for practice, looked more than a bit miffed.

Harry, for his part, didn't have much interest in the debate that would take place that evening, and would have considered skipping it altogether if that wouldn't have been bad form. He already knew who had his vote, and he didn't think the vote would be a particularly tight one in any case. Sappho Stone had already demonstrated her good leadership skills, and now it turned out that she seemed to be the deftest hand with a wand out of the lot. Those going up against her in the debate would have to prepare some _mighty_ fine words indeed in order to sway Harry.

As all of the Puffs, minus the few who stayed to help clean up, made their way to the Common Room, Harry was tight-lipped about his opinions since he thought it might have an undue influence on the vote if he publicly endorsed one of the contenders. Even so, it seemed that the general consensus of the group was that Sappho would win in a landslide. A part of Harry had to wonder if that's why she had made the suggestion of this particular manner of selection – and another part of Harry commended her sneakiness, assuming and hoping that she had planned all of this out. Someone like that would be the best possible person to follow into battle.

"That was a rotten trick you played on us," Wayne grumbled to him.

"Rotten trick?" he repeated, confused.

"Having us get stunned and jelly-legged and all that!"

Harry waved his hand from side to side dismissively. "You wouldn't have gotten hurt," he said, unconcerned. "The grass is padded, you know."

"I thought it was right good fun," Justin put in, grinning. "I've never been hit by any of those spells before. Did you see how I went flying when I was disarmed? I think I probably got shot about ten feet. It was brilliant! My brothers are going to be so jealous."

Wayne gave Justin a look of absolute astonishment. Apparently he was lacking the right words to express just how mad he thought the other Muggleborn boy was, so he settled on just flapping his mouth and sputtering with wide eyes.

"I thought it was very educational," Cerie said. "I've always wondered what being stunned felt like. And now I know!"

"It feels like being unconscious," Susan deadpanned. "I do it every night."

"Well, now I know," Cerie repeated.

"Well, I thought it was _great_ ," Hannah gushed. "I was happy you decided to include everyone. It would have been _boring_ to just watch from the sidelines!"

"I prefer being bored over being cursed," Wayne muttered.

"Oh, lighten up, Wayne," Hannah said. "Did you get something up your butt when you hit the turf, or what?"

"Well, I'm sort of in the middle," Hermione said. "I mean, it was definitely very educational, but it was a bit scary, too."

Harry just sighed. "You guys know, you didn't _have_ to volunteer, right? I mean … it was a volunteer thing."

"You looked so helpless," Megan said quietly.

Harry scratched his nape. He had thought he looked very much in control, even during the parts when he absolutely wasn't. But of course his friends had seen right through that and had rushed to his aid. Now, he felt embarrassed, but also pleased that he had such good friends to rely on – and pleased also that the stress of the situation hadn't caused his brain to do anything funny. He said, "I guess I did get a bit desperate there, when I realized my mistake. Only for a second, of course."

"Of course," almost all of the firsties chorused.

"Because we saved your skin," Wayne added in an undertone.

"Good point," Harry said. "Thanks everyone. That would have been a bit embarrassing if you hadn't stepped in. I wonder what I would have done?"

Harry imagined a scenario in which nobody had volunteered to be a target dummy, and he had had to take all of the jinxes himself. Getting repeatedly disarmed and stunned and jelly-legged by twelve sixth and seventh years. He shivered. Yes, it was good to be a Hufflepuff.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

* * *

Some notes:

Did I say in some previous author's notes that the pace of this story would be increasing exponentially? Just goes to show, you can't trust strangers on the interwebs. I lied.


	15. Chapter 15

The Tinkerer

Chapter 15

At some point during lunch, Harry had gotten the idea into his head that while Lucius Malfoy's attempts at improving the Defense curriculum had apparently been thwarted by Quirrell, who Harry assumed had some kind of dirt on the young Malfoy patriarch, that did not necessarily mean that similar attempts to ameliorate the deficiencies in other classes would similarly be met with only lukewarm success. While Quirrell may be here to stay, in other words, that did not necessarily mean that they would have to continue to endure the other less-than-satisfactory professors that seemed to be running amok at Hogwarts.

This train of thought found Harry gathering up Lavender Brown from the Gryffindor table and bringing her over to where Kevin Entwhistle sat at the Ravenclaw table and explaining what he could of the situation without betraying Draco's trust. "Chief among which," he was saying, "is Professor Binns."

Kevin nodded. "Professor Binns has taught five generations of Entwhistles," he said. "That's not exactly a good thing, though, considering that none of them liked him."

"Five generations?" Harry repeated, aghast. If the man was an institution unto himself, it might make their work more difficult.

Kevin frowned. "But why are you bringing this to us, anyway?"

"Well," Harry said, "you are the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor parts of our society for the betterment of educational quality, aren't you?"

"We're part of a society?" Lavender repeated, her eyes a bit starry.

"You helped us with the petition against Quirrell," Harry clarified. "I assumed it was because you had a vested interest in the quality of education. So that's why I brought this to you two."

Kevin nodded, muttering something about how it made sense. Lavender, on the other hand, reddened. "Well of course we're vestedly interested!" she said. "We're the most studious students in our respective Houses, so of course we're committed to quality education!"

Something about that outburst didn't quite ring true to Harry, and he wondered if Lavender had some other motive, or if perhaps she had simply had a personal vendetta against Quirrell (something which Harry could sympathize with wholeheartedly) and was not necessarily interested in across-the-board reform. If that were true, it could prove problematic later on, but considering that he had no other friendly contacts within Gryffindor, and considering that she at least said that she was committed, he would have to simply not dwell on it. "At any rate," he said, trying to push through the air of awkwardness that seemed to have settled on them, "any actions we take will benefit greatly from inter-House cooperation."

Lavender nodded energetically. "It's good for us to work together," she said.

"Perhaps that's why nobody's ever managed to exorcise the ghost haunting the History classroom before," Kevin theorized. "There was never an inter-House organization dedicated to it."

Harry nodded. "That may well be the case. Well, I won't pretend I've read every page of _Hogwarts: A History_ , but it seems like a sound hypothesis."

"Hypothesis?" Kevin repeated blankly.

 _Oh, that's right_ , Harry remembered. _Wizards and scientific theory don't exactly walk hand-in-hand along the beach at sunset together_. "A hypothesis is like a theory, but it hasn't been tested yet," he said. Seeing that that explanation only bewildered the clever Claw, Harry raised his hand to ask for another chance to explain. "In the muggle world –"

" _Oh_ ," Kevin said. "A muggle thing. Well, never mind it then."

Harry was a bit amazed by the attitude, but shrugged. He didn't really have time to convince Kevin that science wasn't a waste of time, and that wasn't the point of the present conversation. He shrugged and said. "Right, never mind it. What I meant was simply that your idea that nobody's ever tried to get all four Houses together to do something like this might have merit."

"Might?" Kevin repeated. "Well, it seems obvious to me."

Harry bit his lip and tried not to show his frustration with the thick-headed egghead. "I'm saying it's most likely true," he said delicately, "but there's just no way of knowing for sure. Anyway, it's not important. What's important, as you say, is exorcising the ghost that's haunting one of our lecture halls."

Lavender had a very thoughtful expression on her face, now. Harry regarded her as she seemed to put her thoughts into order. But then she noticed him looking at her, squeeked a bit, blushed and looked down at the table. Harry wanted to roll his eyes, disappointed that Lavender had only been interested in being part of this group, it seemed, because she fancied him. Still, it had looked like she had something to add, for a second there. "Lavender," he said. "Did you have something to say?"

Lavender looked up, her blue eyes widened by surprise and embarrassment.

Harry said, "I mean, it looked like you had something on your mind."

Lavender nodded vigorously enough to make her blond locks bob, firming her resolution, and Harry could practically see the Gryffindor propaganda going though her head. Still, it gave her the courage to speak. She said, "I do have something to say, Harry. You know, I'm the first person in my family to come to Hogwarts. My family isn't as old as the Potters or the Entwhistles or the Malfoys, not on either side. My mum was a muggleborn, and her parents didn't want to put their little girl in a swimming pool worth of debt, so they enrolled her in Shaftly instead. The tuition there is about a quarter of what it is here, did you know that? My dad's from a newblood family. Third gen. They've always gone to Lawrence Bay. But my parents have done really well for themselves, and since I'm an only child they thought that they could afford to do well by me, too, so they sent me here."

Harry hadn't expected her to tell him her whole life story. But she wasn't done. "As you might expect, I had my expectations pretty high. I mean, it's _Hogwarts_! I was the luckiest girl in the world, and I had the best parents in the world. For the most part … it seems like Hogwarts's reputation is well-founded. I mean, Flitwick and McGonagall and Sprout are academic superheroes in their fields."

"Superheroes?" Kevin repeated, confused.

Lavender said, "Rockstars, if you prefer," but that only made him look more confused. She huffed and decided to ignore him, and continued where she had left off: "And while Snape is an awful teacher, people say he's the greatest potionsmaster of his generation. But there are one or two teachers here that just aren't up to snuff. I mean, my parents are paying a _lot_ of money for me to be here, you know? So I think that it's just not right. It isn't _right_ that a Hogwarts education should cost four times a Shaftly education, and it's a bit dodgy once you get here. It offers worse coverage of some of our core subjects! I mean, having that idiot teach Defense – he's gotten a little bit better, but he's still a complete idiot, and he should be sacked. But then they have a _ghost_ teaching one of the core classes? A ghost! Not that I have anything against ghosts –" she added, spotting the nearby Gray Lady, "– but he does a terrible job. I think Nearly-Headless Nick might make a decent history teacher, but Binns is an insult to the word 'teacher.' And really, I have to wonder, what does a ghost need a salary for? _Where is my parents' money going_ , really? I want answers!"

Lavender suddenly stopped talking. Harry looked at her in amazement. Kevin's hands were hovering near each other, as though he wasn't sure if he should clap or not. Lavender looked around – and other people were looking at her too – and seemed a bit embarrassed again, but then she did that shoulder-firming nod and said, "It's an injustice. And I would be proud to help you investigate it and put an end to it, Harry!"

Harry blinked. Kevin clapped twice, softly, then stopped. Harry said, "Well, I'm glad to have you on board, Lavender."

She gave a hesitant grin.

"Anyway, yeah," Harry said, deciding to reward her enthusiasm. "I think we should be a proper society. Something with a proper name and a catchy acronym and by-line, you know. Hell, maybe even a mascot. Well, I think you're probably the best qualified to come up with all that, Lavender."

Now she was beaming. "So, what's the plan?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Well," he said, thinking about it. Was he supposed to already have a plan? But by the way they were looking at him, he was. They expected him to have the solution to all of their problems in his robe pocket, and all they would have to do would be to put their stamps of approval on it. He wondered, briefly, why he had decided to set himself up as the leader of yet another group – and then it dawned on him that he had always been the leader of every group with which he was associated, ever since he had come to Hogwarts, except for the Disciples, and even then he was the group leader's protégé and had some sort of special authority, despite having only been a member for less than two weeks. It was sometimes difficult to remember that the fame he had on this side of the 'magical divide' was the fame of a savior, one who wore a crown of thorns and carried a shining sword of justice – it was completely different from the fame he had grown used to on the other side of the 'magical divide.' Although he had thought that he had come to terms with this already, it seemed like more and more implications were coming to light all the time. It was startlingly clear, suddenly, that of course he was the leader, of course he had the solution, because if he didn't then, in their minds, nobody could. Harry said, "I have a few ideas, but I want to hear what you guys think as well. So let's meet tomorrow after transfiguration? I'll bring Draco along, too."

"That's right," Kevin said. "Why isn't Mr. Malfoy with us?"

Harry chanced a peek over at the Slytherin table. Sure enough, Draco was looking their way. Harry gave Draco a grin and a friendly wave that he hoped conveyed that he would bring him up to speed soon. "Well, that's because he's already done so much for our group," he tried. "I wanted us three to do something without his help."

That seemed to satisfy Kevin and Lavender. Of course the real reason was quite different: he had been worried that Lucius Malfoy's lackluster performance on the Quirrell front would come into the conversation, and he didn't want to put Draco on the spot trying to defend his father's disappointing actions.

"Anyway. Tomorrow after transfig, yeah? See you guys there!"

And Harry stood up and made his way over to the Slytherin table. "Hey, Draco," he said. "Parkinson, Greengrass, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle," he added, addressing each member of Draco's inner circle of friends while excluding others nearby. He didn't know anything about the two other Slytherin girls, but he knew that they were not Draco's close friends, and he wasn't about to entangle himself in another Zabini incident just now.

"Harry! How good of you to join us," Draco said warmly.

The rest of the boys all muttered his name and nodded. Parkinson said, "A pleasure as always," and inclined her shoulders in the closest imitation that one could do of a curtsy while remaining seated. Greengrass just gave him what seemed to be a friendly smile and a little nod.

"Draco, there's a little matter I'd like to speak with you about in private, if you have some time later…?" Harry said, not seeing any reason for a dithering preamble.

"Sounds interesting," Draco said, giving him a broad smile that did nothing to his eyes. "I'll tell you what, why don't you let me entertain you in the Slytherin Common Room?"

Harry blinked. Well, he hadn't expected to make a field trip today, but why the hell not? "Sure," he said. "I'd be delighted to see what all the fuss is about. That is to say, I've heard that your Common Room is lovely." That, of course, was a lie – Harry had never heard anyone describe the Slytherin Common Room other than by the phrase 'the snake pit,' but something told him that it probably was rather nice in there.

"Lovely?" Draco repeated, surprised. Apparently his assumption had been wrong. "Well. I suppose it's comfortable enough. I trust that someone as resourceful as yourself will have no trouble finding it?"

 _Oh, great, a test_. "Of course," he said. "Let's say … an hour from now?"

"Excellent," Draco said. "Now, it seems like lunch is winding down. I trust you managed to get something to eat over at Ravenclaw?"

Harry found himself rather amused by that remark – it seemed to be Draco's way of telling him that he knew precisely what Harry had been getting up to. "Oh, don't worry about me," Harry said. "Anyway, see you in a bit."

Harry withdrew from the Slytherin table with a round of polite smiles and small nods to Draco's friends, and made his way out of the Great Hall.

"I can't seem to give myself a break," he muttered as he made his solitary way to the Hufflepuff Common Room. "Am I some kind of workaholic?" Harry straightened his tie and concluded: "Of course I am – I'm a Puff."

"Admirable!" cried one of the few paintings in the hallway that depicted a human being rather than fruit. Harry, who found the idea of talking to paintings a bit odd still, just smiled and kept walking. He'd actually caught students engaging in conversation with them once or twice, but Harry himself perhaps just wasn't _wizard_ enough yet to think that talking to furnishings was in any way acceptable. Then again, he had just been talking to himself. He wondered why the paintings of people and animals never ate the paintings of fruit bowls.

"Where have you been?" Hannah asked the moment he sat down with his group on the couch.

"Just business," he said with a little wave. "How's everything here?"

"Hermione's put us all to work on our Charms essays," Hannah whined.

Harry looked at her parchment. It said her name, Professor Flitwick's name, the name of the assignment, and the word 'The.'

"Need help?" he offered.

" _You_ should focus on your _own_ essay, Harry Potter," Hermione stated. "We only have until Wednesday!"

"All right," he said. He had an hour to kill before his meeting with Draco in the snake pit, after all, which should be more than enough time to jot down the required eight inches worth. He borrowed parchment, quill and ink from Cerie – who always had a huge surplus of such things, due to her artistic proclivities – since he didn't have his own supplies handy, and got down to work.

"Won't you be needing your book?" Hannah asked, watching as he scribbled furiously.

"It's all up here," Harry said, gesturing to his head with his quill. An unfortunate decision, since it caused ink to splatter on his cheek. He wiped it off with his sleeve and went back to it.

The less-than-rigorous standards of academic integrity within the wizarding world meant that Harry was allowed to cite authors just by saying something like, "According to Skullfelt," and paraphrasing what the author had said. This meant that there wasn't really any need to have any books handy while writing a simple assignment like this one, assuming that one had done the reading in advance. Harry thought it might be amusing to see exactly what the boundaries were at some point: it might be of interest to cite a source with the phrase "I read somewhere" just to see if he would get marked down for that. He suspected he would, but it might be worth a few points on his essay just to see for sure.

Within thirty minutes, he was blowing the ink dry and bumming a bit of string from Neville to tie up the rolled up assignment.

Once done, he found Hannah regarding him with incredulity. "How do you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"How do you just make an O-worthy essay up off the top of your head?"

"It's all based on the lectures and the reading," he said. "It's not off the top of my head. And it hasn't been graded yet."

"You always get O's though," she pointed out. That was true, of course. Harry's first ever transfiguration assignment had come back with a letter O written on it, which he took for a zero and panicked before Hermione kindly explained how grades work. Since then, it had just been a line of what he continued to think of as zeroes because it amused him.

Harry thought about her original question. This was a chance to impart some real wisdom on one of his friends, he realized, and he wasn't about to let it slip him by by just shrugging the question away. He said, "It's not about being clever, it's about organizing your thoughts. Just take a minute and think about everything you want to say, and get it all in the correct order, and Bob's your uncle."

"You know Uncle Bob?" she asked.

"Oh, never mind that part. Just focus on the assignment, Hannah. Before you put quill to parchment, think about each and every point you want to make. Then think about how to organize them so that it's clean, coherent and concise. Then you can think about how to make it interesting, too. Once you've got all of that in your head, dip that quill in ink and watch it all come out."

Hannah frowned. "I don't think my head can hold a whole essay all at once," she said doubtfully.

"Maybe close your eyes," he suggested. "And just think it through for a while."

Hannah dutifully closed her eyes and seemed to be thinking about her assignment. Harry, for his part, was amazed that people educated in the wizarding world weren't even taught things like this. How was anyone supposed to succeed in life if they didn't even know how to organize eight inches worth of essay?

Then again, he had the occlumency advantage.

"Of course," he added, seeing that Hannah's face was starting to look a bit agitated, "you could also just jot down all of the main points you want to make. It's probably better not to do it in your head, really, but that's just my habit."

Harry wanted to bring up the Binns issue, and the overall improvement of academics at the school, but he saw that Neville had been listening in and had his eyes shut, too. Taking another look around the group, it seemed like Cerie and Ernie were giving shut-eyed contemplation a go, too – although in Cerie's case she may have just been daydreaming. It wouldn't do to distract them at this stage. So he took his essay to his room and deposited it in his bookbag, exchanging it for the enchanting book that he still had a hundred or so pages left of, and spent the remainder of his time before his appointment with Draco reading it.

For someone who's supposedly got a rigorously organized mind, he missed one rather important detail. When the time came, he realized that he still didn't know where the Slytherin Common Room was, and cursed himself for not spending his time looking for it. There was time left to do that, though, so he decided to ask for help.

"Hey, Tosha," he said conversationally as he approached the group of fourth years plus the ever-present Frankie. "Where is the Slytherin Common anyway?"

Tosha's wink was more meaningful than he could bear. Then she said, "Why? You got a girly-thing?"

"Probably," Harry said.

"Oh, _honey_!" Samantha exclaimed, perking up. "Come on, tell us all about it."

"Actually, no," Harry amended, realizing that keeping his affairs secret was hardly worth getting Samantha worked up. "I've got a business thing."

"Oh, you're no fun," Sam said, returning her attention to her boyfriend.

Tosha rolled her eyes. "Come on," she said as she stood up from what could have been anything from a musical score to arithmancy homework, for all Harry understood the strange symbols. "Let me show you where it is."

As Tosha took him by the elbow and led him out of Hufflepuff, she whispered, "Is it _really_ a girly-thing?"

"It's really not," he said. "Sorry."

"Oh, never mind. So what kind of business thing?"

Harry considered how much he wanted to tell her. It probably wouldn't be wise, he thought upon some consideration, to bring the Disciples in on the educational improvement project. Who knew what they might do? So he said, "Draco and I are discussing the dueling clubs. Don't worry though, I'm not going to tell him what's going on in Puff. I won't ruin our advantage. I'm just going to see if he and I can work something out to give us both a better chance of getting on our teams."

"Oh, pish," Tosha said. "You're already on the team, don't you know that? I mean, after that show this morning."

"Well, I didn't exactly cast any spells during that show this morning," he pointed out. "I was just the master of ceremonies. And there's a reason I didn't cast any spells – I don't know any dueling magic at all, yet. Are you interested in the team, by the way?"

Tosha considered this question for what seemed like quite a long time before she said, "Well, having just picked up a position on the Quidditch team, I might end up being a bit too busy for it. But you know what, I think I'm going to try out anyway, and if I'm too busy I'll just ask to be made a reserve. A reserve on the dueling team, obviously, not the Quidditch team."

Harry nodded, but he said, "You know, I think they'll be expecting the reserves to be at all of the practices, too."

"Hm. Well, I'll make it work, somehow."

"Why did you think it was a girl thing, by the way?" he asked as they turned down into the dungeons.

Tosha sent him a sly grin. "Well, it could have been," she said.

"Yes, but why did you jump to that conclusion?"

"Slytherins don't get a lot of love from the other Houses, you know?" Tosha said. "But Hufflepuffs have a lot of love to give. There's always a lot of Slytherin-Hufflepuff couples. Morgan says that it's because opposites attract, but I think we're not opposites at all. Becca says it's because those Sly-boys are just so brooding and mysterious, we can't help ourselves."

Harry thought this over for a while. Out of all of the Hogwarts Houses, it seemed like only the members of Hufflepuff maintained good relations with the other three. Speaking in broad generalities, it could be said that Gryffindors despised Slytherins, and Slytherins despised Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws despised Gryffindors _and_ Slytherins. While the other three Houses didn't seem to hold Hufflepuff in particularly high regard, it was also true that none of them held any particular animosity towards Hufflepuff. Hufflepuffs included traditionalists that could sympathize with the Slytherins politically, as well as liberals that sympathized more with the Gryffindor crowd, but by and large they tended to stay out of the whole nasty business as well as they could, which made them natural peacebrokers. And when it came to the Claws, the Hufflepuff dedication to hard work and the Ravenclaw tendency towards navel-gazing theory-craft were natural compliments.

"Have you ever dated a Slytherin?" he asked her.

"Back in anno second," Tosha said. "I dated this one Sly-boy for about half a year. We ended on good terms, mind. They're not bad people, even if they can be a bit prickly. Well, this boy was about as prickly as they come, and eventually I think I wore him down. We both realized that it wasn't meant to be and we dropped it. But he really was a charming guy, in spite of the prickles."

"Prickly," Harry repeated, "yet charming." Weren't those basically opposites?

"Well, since you're friends with them, you'll understand what I mean soon enough," she said.

"Do you have anyone you're interested in now?" Harry probed.

Tosha batted him on the shoulder. "Bit young for me, sorry," she said. "You'd have better luck with Sam."

"Not _me_ ," he clarified. "I mean, is there anyone you fancy?"

"Well," she said, "since you really want to know … I suppose I could tell you, but don't spread it around."

"I'd _never_ ," he said seriously. "I mean, unless you thought a rumor like that would help you. Otherwise, never."

"There _is_ this one boy that's caught my eye," she said. "It's a bit embarrassing, though, since he's a complete fusspot. Becca would tell me to get my head looked at if she knew."

"A fusspot?" Harry repeated, a bit amazed. "That doesn't sound like your type," he said cautiously.

"Maybe Morgan's right about opposites attracting," Tosha said. "Or no, it's not that. I don't really know what it is … something about how he handles those little brothers of his when they get on his bad side makes me want to get on his bad side in a big way."

"Er –" he said, or rather didn't know what to say. Suddenly this conversation was heading into perilous waters.

"Just watching how he digs into them whenever they cause trouble … I wouldn't mind if he dug into me, you know?"

Tosha looked over at Harry and seemed to take in his look of abject horror and remember all at once that he was only a first year, and a boy, and she said, "That is to say, er – well, Slytherin's right around the corner, here."

"Right," he said, staring at the blank wall they had stopped in front of. "How do you get in?" When she didn't respond, he glanced over, only to see her beating a hasty retreat back the way they had come. "Great," he muttered.

Feeling incredibly foolish, Harry knocked. Nothing, predictably, happened. Harry looked up and down the dimly lit corridor, checking both for any sign of a door and for anyone watching him make a fool of himself, and tried knocking again. Nothing happened once more. He wondered what he had expected the second time, and an Einstein quote drifted through his head. "Right," he said. "Let's not get all kooky. There's got to be something. _Lumos Facis!_ "

After careful inspection of the wall, which had originally appeared to be utterly blank and featureless, Harry was able to confirm that it most likely was the entrance to Slytherin based on the fact that there was a faint, time-worn etching of a snake biting its own tail carved into the wall about a head above his eye level. Presumably, it had been etched there a long time ago by some Slytherin who kept saying the password to the wrong bit of wall and was tired of looking like a complete fool. Still, having confirmed that he had arrived at the correct bit of wall after all did nothing to help Harry open the passageway up.

"What would be a likely password?" he wondered, for he suspected that this entrance, unlike the entrances to Hufflepuff, the kitchens and Diagon Alley, required a verbal password rather than a physical interaction. "Salazar?" he asked the wall. The wall did not answer. "Tradition," he tried. "Pride. Ambition. Phineas the Bold. Honor. Respect your elders. I'm grasping at straws, here."

Harry was starting to get pretty frustrated by that point. Glaring up at the stupid ouroboros etching, he snapped at it, " _Just open your arse up_!"

To his shock, the little ouroboros spun about its axis, doing a full three-sixty, and then the section of wall which had frustrated him jerked back and slid to one side in a manner not entirely unlike the automatic door at his favorite electronics store (something which he would definitely _not_ say out loud), allowing him passage.

" _Nox_ ," he muttered, staring at the hole in the wall in bewilderment. Leave it to Slytherin House to not have a password at all, but just have a door that only opens if you tell it to in a sufficiently authoritarian way. Shaking his head and wondering what he was getting himself into, Harry entered.

If he had been expecting it to look anything like the Hufflepuff Common Room, he was in for a rude awakening. Unlike the Puffs, the Slytherins apparently didn't believe in comfy couches, and instead preferred overly tall-backed wooden chairs without armrests. Unlike the Puffs, the Slytherins had no central hearth, but rather a great big fireplace that sat under a rather delicate-looking mantelpiece, which was adorned only with the House and Quidditch Cups which they had won last year and no personal momentos of any kind. Unlike the Hufflepuff Common Room, where people would often leave half-finished work lying around, the tables in Slytherin were all either occupied by studiers or completely cleared off and with their chairs tucked in. The shape of the room itself, though, was the strangest part. The Slytherin Common Room was extremely long and rather narrow, and the ceiling was extremely low, so that the fireplace went practically right up to it. All of it was made of dull gray stonework not unlike the rest of the dungeons, albeit rather more smooth. With the very low ceiling, the very tall furniture, and the dim light provided by the little lamps hanging here and there, the whole place seemed designed to heighten the claustrophobia that the long and narrow room would have regardless.

Harry didn't have long to stand around and take in the scenery, though. As soon as he entered, several sets of eyes snapped to him, and as they continued to stare, more and more people looked over.

A rather intimidating fellow was making his way over to Harry, presumably to rough him up a bit and toss him out, but fortunately Daphne Greengrass proved quicker. "Harry!" she exclaimed like they were old chums. "So glad you could make it. Draco was getting worried, since you're a bit late, and we neglected to tell you the password. Anyway, come with me," she said, taking him by the elbow in a similar fashion to how Tosha had done earlier and leading him over to one edge of the narrow confines. The boy who had moved towards him, presumably to act as an impromptu bouncer, resumed his seat, but continued glaring at Harry suspiciously.

"Thanks, Greengrass," Harry muttered.

"Oh, _you_ ," she said. "It's just Daphne. Come along, Draco's waiting."

Indeed, Draco seemed to have secured a private table with two chairs, over which hung a single green lamp, and appeared to be doing his own Charms assignment by himself as he waited for Harry. "Draco," Daphne said as they approached. "Harry's here."

Draco looked up at him with one of his half-grins. Dropping his quill back into the inkwell in a manner that spoke of unconcern, he extended his hand warmly and said, "Ah, Harry. Glad you could make it."

"Hey, Draco," Harry said hesitantly, feeling many eyes on the back of his head.

"Please, take a seat," Draco said as he stoppered his inkwell and put his things into the bag that was hanging off his chair. "Daphne, thank you," he added, noticing that she was still there.

Daphne smiled, nodded, and made her way over to another, larger table, where Harry observed that the rest of Draco's friends were. They all seemed to be pretending not to watch him, but at least that was better than openly watching him like some of the older students still were. "Interesting place," he said hesitantly. "I love the … fireplace."

Draco glanced over at it. Indeed, the rather opulent fireplace stood out like a sore thumb in the otherwise spartan environs. "It's a far cry from the manor," Draco muttered. "I don't know who told you it was nice, but –" then Draco suddenly stopped himself, stood up, and tapped the light fixture overhead with his wand. "Well, at least we have built-in privacy charms."

Indeed, the quiet murmurings of the Slytherins around them were abruptly cut off.

"Do you get a lot of guests here?" Harry asked hesitantly. He wished the privacy charm also had a Notice-Me-Not, so that people would stop watching them.

"Not many," Draco said, chagrined. "Of course, some of the upperclassmen sometimes bring their friends here, but it's rare. I believe you're the first guest of any of the first years."

"Maybe we should have done this in Hufflepuff," Harry said tentatively.

"Oh, don't worry about them," Draco said with a careless gesture. "They know better than to contradict me, even if I'm just a first year. Well, you know my father's position."

"Right," Harry said, feeling only slightly relieved. From what he understood, Lucius Malfoy was one of seven members of the Board of Governors, and he had already seen how someone as useless as Quirrell could outmaneuver the young patriarch of the Malfoy family, an episode which would probably have Harry taking any future claims of the Malfoy family's political potency with a grain of salt. Nevertheless, that was one of the orders of business for which Harry had arrived here. Wishing that he had some better segue, he said, "Actually, that's part of the reason I'm here."

"Oh?" Draco asked with interest. "Does this have to do with that lunchtime meeting?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Lavender, Kevin and I were thinking about taking further actions. _Not_ against Quirrell, of course," he hastened to clarify. "I didn't forget what I said. We're not going to take any further actions against Professor Quirrell. On that front, your father has done what he can, and we appreciate his good work."

Draco's good humor seemed rather withering, despite Harry's attempts at padding the subject. "What further steps, then?" he asked.

"Professor Binns," Harry said. "We want to see Professor Binns removed."

Draco raised his brow slightly. "The ghost?" he said. "Binns has been here for a hundred years or more … it would be tampering with tradition to see him removed."

"I disagree," Harry said firmly. "Binns has been here for a hundred years or more, and it's long past time he's retired. Having a ghost teach History is not a Hogwarts tradition. Rather, hiring on a new person is a long-standing oversight which we mean to correct."

"I see your point," Draco said. "Fine. All right, I'll consider it."

"Consider it, and come to our meeting tomorrow after transfiguration," Harry said. "This time around, I want us to all think about it carefully and deliberate on the best choice before we pursue any course of action. Therefore, we'll be meeting tomorrow to talk it over. Anyway –" he added, seeing that Draco was about to interrupt him, "– I'm glad you'll be joining us."

Draco shook his head, seeing that his 'I'll consider it' had been transfigured into a 'I'll meet with you and talk it over' without his consent. "All right," he said. "I'll be there tomorrow."

"Excellent," Harry said. "Now, there's another more important matter I wanted to discuss with you."

"Is there really?" Draco said with evident disbelief.

"Yes. Now, tell me Draco, are you interested in participating in this whole dueling club thing?"

Draco nodded without delay, saying, "Of course. It's an opportunity to demonstrate a truly useful skill and to bring honor to your House and your family."

"I agree," Harry said. "Yet, with us being first years –"

Draco grimaced, if only slightly. "Yes," he said. "We don't really know any useful spells. Or that is to say, not many."

"Would you like to correct that imbalance?" Harry said, trying to make the suggestion sound as intriguing as he could.

Draco seemed to be hooked. He said, "Do you have an idea, then?"

"Well. What if you and I put our heads together – excluding the rest of Hufflepuff and the rest of Slytherin, since that would only increase the competition – and do a bit of extracurricular work leading up to the try outs for the team?"

Draco nodded. "An interesting solution," he said cautiously. "But would you really exclude your Housemates? That's not very Hufflepuffian of you."

"Hufflepuffs," Harry said meaningfully, "are not at odds with winning."

Draco seemed to mull this over. Finally he said, "So, just a bit of extra preparation leading up to the selection. Yes, I could see how having a training partner would be greatly beneficial. And of course, it would have to be a partner from another House, otherwise you'd just be helping your competitors."

"This partnership will only extend until such a time as our captains have selected us for our respective teams," Harry explained. "At that point, our Housemates will no longer be our competitors – we'll be competing against each other. Up until that time, however, this might benefit us both greatly."

"We would have to do it in secret," Draco pointed out. "Lest we be accused of consorting with the enemy."

"Clearly," Harry said. "We'll need a secluded area in which to work."

Draco nodded. "Yes, I know just the place we could use. It's in Slytherin territory, but it's not well-known."

Harry wasn't about to get into an argument about whether or not the entire dungeons were 'Slytherin territory' or not, since this seemed to be going so well. He said, "Excellent. So, tonight, then?"

"Tonight?" Draco repeated. "Well, yes, I suppose we shouldn't waste any time. All right. In fact, how about we begin immediately after the demonstration instead of waiting until tonight?"

"Can't," Harry said. "Hufflepuff is having a big meeting directly after the demonstration. Strictly House business, you understand. How about seven o'clock? I'll meet you in the first classroom on the left going into the dungeons. You find me there at seven and take me to this place you have in mind."

"That will work," Draco agreed. "You really are a rather busy person, aren't you?" he added, looking at Harry curiously.

"No rest for the wicked," Harry said, repeating the refrain that Ernie had said that very morning.

"Something curious, though," Draco said. "Don't you want to include Brown and Entwhistle? I mean, they wouldn't be in competition with us during the team selections, either."

Harry thought about it. "It hadn't actually occurred to me," he admitted. "It would be in a way logical to include them, too, wouldn't it? But no, I think it's better that we don't. Gryffindors can't keep their mouths shut about anything, you know. And neither one of them seems like the type to go in for dueling, in any case. Actually, I'm rather surprised that you would suggest including them."

In truth, though, it was an interesting idea now that Draco brought it to his attention. Or rather, a slightly different idea was interesting: maybe it would be in Harry's best interests to double-deal and train with Sonny and Terry as well as with Draco, but separately. He'd get more practice in and he'd impress upon Draco just how awesome of a wizard he was, even more than he would anyway. Harry had to throw out that idea, though. There were only twenty-four hours in a day and he already had a lot going on.

"I didn't suggest it," Draco clarified. "I was wondering why you didn't suggest it. Of course, you're right about them. Besides, we'll get more work done with just the two of us, I think."

"Definitely. Oh, there's one other thing," Harry said, retrieving the list of spells that was still in his pocket from that morning. "I have here a list of several basic Defense spells. I think we should focus on these spells first. If we have additional time, we can come up with something else, but these are of paramount importance."

"I see," Draco said, looking the list over. "Yes, this looks like a good place to start."

"Unfortunately, I only have the names of the spells, not instructions on how to actually perform them. I was wondering, Draco, since I'll be busy, would you be able to kip over to the library and find a few relevant books?"

Draco sighed at the concept of going to the library on a perfectly nice Sunday afternoon, but he said, "I suppose I could do such a small favor."

"It's not a favor," Harry clarified. "We both need those books, and only you have time to go get them."

Draco gave him a very amused expression, then. "You're learning quickly," he observed. "All right, I'll do it. Not as a favor, just as a necessary thing."

"Excellent," said Harry, straightening out his robes in preparation to stand. He could get used to delegating stuff to other people. He was, as Draco had pointed out, a very busy guy, and a lot of the things he had to do each day could only really be done by him, so it was always good to have people willing to act as gofers for the little things. He could definitely get used to it. While Draco could hardly be counted as a proper underling _yet_ , Harry couldn't help but conclude that between his willingness to do little errands for him, and the fact that Harry was aware of Draco's secret humiliation with regards to his father's impotency vis-a-vis Quirrell, things seemed to be heading in that direction. Harry carefully admonished himself that he would just have to be careful not to get _too_ big of a head, lest that crown of thorns pop it. "Well, that was productive, wouldn't you say? Now, remember, seven o'clock, first door on the left going down. Mum's the word, of course – wouldn't want people getting jealous, would we? Well, I'll leave you to your Charms essay, then."

"Not so fast," Draco said. "Why don't you walk with us? It's almost time for the orientation, you know," he added.

Harry nodded tentatively. While being member to a throng of all one hundred or so Slytherins wasn't exactly his idea of a nice little stroll around the castle, it would be rude to refuse.

It seemed, however, that his worries about being lost in a wave of green and silver ties was for nothing, because as it turned out, the group of first year Slytherins, plus Harry and minus Zabini and two of the girls, were among the first groups to make the trek up and out from the dungeon level towards the Great Hall.

During what turned out to be a rather pleasant walk after all, Harry found his elbow taken hold of by the same Daphne Greengrass who had met him at the Common Room portal, who seemed to have taken a liking to him, which afforded Harry an opportunity to ask a few questions which he had been wondering for some time – and especially since the 'hypothesis snafu' with Kevin – about how oldbloods, and more specifically the 'purebloods' of Slytherin, were brought up. "Daphne," said he, "what was your old school like?"

"My old school?" Daphne echoed, looking at him quizzically. "I've only been here," she supplied uncertainly.

Harry felt his brow furrow and made a concerted effort to smooth the creasing. "Oh – sorry, you'll forgive me, you must remember that I grew up on _the other side_ , as it were."

"Oh, right," Daphne said, giving him a little smile that seemed to be a brighter kind of a confusion. He allowed Daphne a moment to compose the inevitable question: "Is that to say, muggleborns go to school before Hogwarts? But whatever would they study?"

Harry felt strangely stricken by this revelation. It had been said in the _Ultimate Guide_ and in _Hogwarts: a History_ things like "it is the beginning of every young witch or wizard's formal education," but Harry had, apparently, taken a liberty with his interpretation, assuming that it referred specifically to their _magical_ education. "Oh, all kinds of things," he said, trying not to let his discomfort show, and looking at Daphne so as not to give away the fact that he was aware of Draco and Theodore eavedropping curiously. "Reading and writing, of course," he enumerated. "History, literature, mathematics … some science." The last was dropped casually, of course.

"Oh, I see," Daphne said brightly. "Well, those are all – well, those are _mostly_ things that we're taught in our tutoring sessions."

"Tutoring sessions?" he repeated with interest.

Daphne nodded. "Draco, Pansy, Theodore and I all had the same tutors," she explained. "We would all meet about three times a week at Ted's house. Then of course, Pansy and I had a separate tutor for etiquette. I suppose the boys had the same but different?" she added, looking over at them.

"Quite," Theodore said simply.

"And you, Mr. Goyle?" Harry inquired.

"I had my own tutors."

"And you, Mr. Crabbe?"

"My mum."

Harry nodded, letting out a little hum of interest. "Fascinating," he said, trying not to be condescending.

"The muggles, then," inquired Draco, "they begin attending formal school at an earlier age?" It seemed that the concept rubbed the noble heir the wrong way, but he barely let any of that show through with the innocuous question.

"Much earlier," said Harry. "I've already been through six years of school."

" _Six years_?" Draco repeated in apparent amazement.

"Yes. Five days a week. Everyone in the muggle world goes to primary school, which begins when you're five years old. There are additional options for younger students as well, but they're optional – it's only required after age five."

This information seemed to stun his Slytherin friends. It was several long moments before Theodore said something, which was, "But surely, the muggles don't have that much to _know_. I mean, they don't even have magic. So what could they possibly be studying for six years?"

Harry wasn't quite sure how to tackle this question. "Er –" he said. "Well, muggle subjects, of course."

"Of course," echoed Theodore, appearing deeply unsatisfied by that answer. Then he tried to guess: "You must know everything about a History of Muggles," he said. "Not to mention, all sorts of maths. And I bet you speak French _and_ German."

"Well, there's quite a lot of history and maths, yes, but I only took a little French. I was more interested in the physical sciences."

"The physical sciences," Theodore repeated. "What's that, then?"

"Well, basically. Er – well, muggles don't have magic, of course. So the physical sciences are how they describe how the non-magical world works."

This seemed profoundly to perplex Theodore, and the other Slytherins seemed to have given up on trying to decipher what to them must have seemed to be riddles. After a moment, Theodore paraphrased him, "Studying the world in the absence of magic…." He trailed off, then said, "I suppose it would all work just as you expect it to, wouldn't it?"

"Well," Harry said, realizing that this line of discussion was well and truly fruitless, "yes, quite. Muggles spend a great deal of time explaining the obvious."

"Fascinating," Theodore said in a way that conjured in Harry's mind the image of Theodore doing some lab experiments on muggles which involve asking them to describe obvious things in as much detail as possible. Harry shivered.

Crabbe, however, was entirely unfascinated. The big blob of anti-philosophy said, "Bit worthless, that. They shouldn't be wasting time. Put them out in the fields, I say, make them produce something."

Draco, Theodore and Mr. Goyle all gave Crabbe a dark look. Pansy, on the other hand, nodded smartly. Daphne seemed like she wasn't sure what to think.

"But I don't understand," she said. "What is the point of it?"

"Yes, really," seconded Draco. Theodore and Mr. Goyle also had looks of interest. Apparently, nobody had ever tried to explain what muggles _do_ with their lives.

Harry determined that an example might help. "What do we know about gravity?" he asked.

"That's _gravitas_ , Harry," Draco corrected delicately.

"Ah. All right, let's see here." Since the Slytherins had all left their bookbags in their dorms, and Harry similarly hadn't brought his from his room the entire day, he said, "Mr. Crabbe, if you would be so kind, could I please have two of your shirt buttons?"

Crabbe looked quite stunned at the suggestion that he should be devested of not one but two buttons by Harry's word, particularly in as much as he had no idea what the purpose was. Crabbe glanced at Mr. Goyle – who Harry was beginning to realize was Crabbe's immediate superior within the Slytherin hierarchy – and, if Harry had expected Mr. Goyle to turn to Draco in turn, he was mistaken, because at Mr. Goyle's somewhat intimidating look, Crabbe removed the two unused buttons around his shirt collar with minimal reluctance.

"Thank you, Mr. Crabbe," said Harry as he took notes on this interplay.

Crabbe only grunted as Harry received the buttons from Crabbe's caloused, paw-like palm into his own long-fingered left.

"Now, do observe, Slytherins," Harry said casually as he retrieved his wand from his inner pocket. Pointing to one of the buttons with its tip, he swiftly transfigured the bone it was originally made from into tungsten. Then he enlarged the metal one until it was about the size of a cricket ball, handed it to Draco so that he could enlarge the other one to the same volume, and then handed that over to Draco as well. "Now, Draco, please tell me, which of these buttons is heavier?"

"The metal one," Draco said, seemingly slightly reluctant to state a fact so obvious. "It's considerably heavier."

"I think so as well," said Harry. "Daphne, what do you think? Draco, let her hold them."

Daphne was quick to say that she agreed with Draco's assessment on the relative weights of the two engorged buttons.

"Does anyone else want to see?" Harry asked, looking around at the group.

"I'll take it on faith that the metal is heavier than the bone," said Theodore, who seemed to be growing someone impatient with Harry's protracted explanation.

"If you're sure," Harry said as he replaced his wand in his coats and took the buttons from Daphne's hands. Harry was about to raise them up overhead, but then realized that if he raised his arms up fully, his hands would still only be a few inches over Crabbe and Mr. Goyle's heads. So instead he said, "Mr. Goyle, if you would be so kind as to assist me," and handed them over. "Now, hold those over your head –" he demonstrated holding an invisible object over his own " – excellent, thank you, Mr. Goyle. Now, Slytherins, in a moment Mr. Goyle will drop these two objects simultaneously. Do you think that the lighter, bone one will hit the ground first, or the heavier metal one?"

Draco snorted. "The metal one, obviously," said he, and Parkinson and Daphne nodded in agreement. Theodore, Harry noted, seemed to know that Harry was trying to trick them all, and held his tongue. Crabbe had a stupid, lost expression – Mr. Goyle's face betrayed absolutely nothing, but you could see the gears whirring.

"That does seem likely," allowed Harry. "But let's just see. Mr. Goyle, if you would – and do drop them at the exact same time, if you could."

The buttons fell. Predictably enough, they struck the ground virtually simultaneously.

Draco turned to Harry with one brow arched at an extreme angle, and said, "Did you use magic?"

Harry smiled magnanimously, then caught himself acting condescending and turned it into a friendly smile. "Actually, no," he said. "Now, what do you think happened, there?"

The Slytherins didn't seem to have anything to say. Their brains were all working on the problem, just as much as their respective mental capacities would allow for, but nobody seemed to have any hypotheses to propose to explain the phenomenon. After a while, Harry got his wand out again and levitated the buttons to Crabbe – not untransfiguring them, and levitating them because he didn't think it would be very dignified to bend over, since that would put his face uncomfortably close to Mr. Goyle's trunk – and resumed walking down the corridor. The Slytherins all caught up quickly. "Now," Harry said as he walked, "what if I told you, the muggles figured out exactly what happened there four hundred years ago?"

After a rather long silence, it was Theodore who admitted, "In that case, I would have to conclude that maybe there _is_ something worth learning at that muggle school."

Harry nodded. "Quite so," he said. "Now there was one other thing that I slipped in there. Did anyone catch it?"

"The metal," volunteered Mr. Goyle promptly. The other Slytherins all looked up at him curiously. "It was not lead," he said, "or tin or iron or anything I've seen before. Was it some muggle alloy?"

Harry favored Mr. Goyle with a broad, genuine grin, and he said, "You, Mr. Goyle, are very, very clever. But no, it was no muggle alloy – it was an entirely different kind of metal, which the muggles discovered I think about two hundred years ago or so. It is called tungsten."

"Tungsten," repeated Theodore. Mr. Goyle nodded – it seemed that this had perhaps been another theory that he had entertained, but had for some reason not voiced.

"Mr. Goyle, you were very close to the correct answer. Could you explain your reasoning?"

Mr. Goyle took a moment to compose his mind, and he said, "As soon as I held it, I somehow knew that it was not iron or pewter. But I did not know just what it was – tungsten, you say. Even though complex alloys are supposed to be rather difficult to transfigure, I presumed that that must have been what you had done, Mr. Potter. However, now that you've properly explained, I find myself remembering that first transfiguration lesson, in which you spoke of something called 'aluminium.'"

"Quite," said Harry. Then, turning to the rest, upon whose faces there were to be found traces of uncertainty, he elucidated: "I do not know if you all remember or not, but during our first transfiguration lesson, I transfigured that matchstick into a needle made of aluminium. Like tungsten, aluminium is a new type of metal only recently discovered by muggles. I noticed at that time that although it seemed that Professor McGonagall seemed to have heard the word 'aluminium' before, she did not seem to have a very clear understanding of just what it was. So, I thought that I might play a little trick on you all – no hard feelings, I hope – by throwing in yet another unknown element. Aluminium and tungsten are both used extensively by muggles, these days, although they have radically different properties. The bone button, if you would be so kind, Mr. Crabbe?"

Harry stopped walking for the time it took to transfigure the non-tungsten enlarged button into aluminium, and encouraged the students to pass the two around and get a feel for the metals. Then, continuing towards the Entrance Hall, he said, "These metals are not alloys of copper, silver or gold, or of iron, nickel, lead or tin. They are entirely new metals which, I believe, are largely unknown by wizards and witches. And tungsten and aluminium are both, in their own right, incredibly useful materials, and both have, in the intervening centuries since their respective discoveries, become quite commonplace in the muggle world. Now, Theodore, what would you say about muggle knowledge?"

Theodore was quite put on the spot by this, but he had to conclude, "The muggles," he said begrudgingly, "know things that we cannot comprehend."

"Quite so," said Harry, just as affably as before, giving Theodore a somewhat apologetic smile. "However, there is one other thing of note. Mr. Goyle, have you observed it?"

Theodore let out a scoff of indignation – apparently he was not used to being placated while some other boy was deferred to. Upon this indignity, Mr. Goyle deferred for the first time to Draco before responding, and it was only after Draco's confirmatory nod that Mr. Goyle responded. He said, "It occurs to me, Mr. Potter, that these things which wizardkind do not yet understand, which the muggles do, have applications in the magical arts."

"Just so," Harry said with satisfaction. "Just so, Mr. Goyle. While it is easy to look down on the muggles for their handicap, it would be wise to bear in mind that they have managed to do some very impressive things in spite of said handicap. And, in the process of overcoming their handicap, the muggles have discovered many things that wizardkind had no cause to investigate, but things which, now that they are known, we can put to good use."

Mr. Goyle's face looked grim – apparently he was sharp enough to hear the obvious but unspoken 'and we will be lost if we don't.' Draco and Theodore were nodding with a sort of hesitant pensiveness. Daphne and Parkinson seemed a bit out of their depth. Crabbe seemed to be more focused on not walking over cracks on the floor than the conversation.

As Harry thought about it more, though, the problem was much deeper than he had suggested to the Slytherins. Not only did wizardkind know nothing of newly discovered materials, but they seemed to have forgotten about some of the oldly-discovered ones as well. He had, since he entered the wizarding world, seen not a scrap of steel, nor indeed even any evidence of concrete. For such people, who had lost the art of cement, and indeed seemed to have little use for even bricks, he had to wonder what hope there was.

Harry felt the beginnings of yet another academic club taking shape in his mind.

"Look here," he said suddenly. "In the muggle world, there is an idiom: _knowledge is power_. Here in the wizarding world, that is a literal truth. Now, see: if I had not transfigured Crabbe's buttons to aluminium and tungsten, you would have no knowledge of these materials existing at all. A gap in knowledge, in the wizarding world, is a real weakness, for if I were to transfigure this tungsten button into a spider, and have it attack you, you would be at a loss for how to untransfigure it. Even vanishing it by transfiguration – that is to say, transfiguring it into air – would take _considerably_ more effort than it would were I to attack you instead with an iron spider. Given this truth – that knowledge is power – it stands to reason that any wizard who is serious about becoming powerful must learn all that there is to learn. In the muggle world, as you have seen, there is a lot of low-hanging fruit for wizardkind. Things that even an eleven-year-old raised in muggledom understands implicitly could give you a significant advantage if you're faced against a wizard who is not aware of them. And Theodore – in the muggle world, we do not just go to school for six years. In fact, many people do not leave school until they are in their late twenties. Imagine what they know that people raised here never could."

All of the Slytherins, sans the space cadet Crabbe and the grimly gritty Mr. Goyle, seemed stricken by the reality that they were facing, which Harry summed up neatly: "There are billions of muggles, and many of them are brilliant. As long as wizardkind continues to ignore their advances, we will only create more gaps in our knowledge – knowledge being power, that means more vulnerabilities. Well," he concluded, "here we are. I'll be joining my Housemates. Thanks for the lovely discussion, Slytherins! Toodles."

And off he trot towards the area of the Great Hall that had been claimed by those wearing ties of yellow.

The Great Hall was quite transformed since lunchtime. The four long House tables were absent, and instead there was a platform measuring about four yards across and around ten yards wide. Around this platform – clearly the dueling stage – the four Houses had made due without their customary tables by clumping together in the places where their respective tables usually stood, so it was without much difficulty that Harry pushed diagonally through the boisterous Gryffindor rabble and towards his own people.

Nor was it hard, once he had pushed his way through all of his own Housemates towards the front, to find his yearmates – or at least Hermione, Susan and Cerie. "Hullo," he said.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, excited by something. "Where have you been? We thought you might not show up!"

"Oh, I just had some business to discuss with Draco. Do you know, I've learned something rather distressing. Well, I'll tell you all about it once we're out of this mob."

"Something distressing?" she echoed, then glanced around to check if anyone was looking at them. "Is it about the _you-know-what_?"

For a moment, Harry did not know what. Then Hermione looked pointedly at his scar, and he realized, and he said, "No, no, nothing to do with that. I've just learned about some serious issues with the education here at Hogwarts. Well, as I say, I'll tell you all about it presently – as soon as we're done here."

Hermione nodded in such a way so as to indicate that she had taken that as a promise. Harry gave her a wry sort of grin.

"And you?" he said. "You seem a bit out of sorts."

"Well, I was just worried about you," she said, looking away. And as she looked away, she showed Harry her profile, which looked a shade or two pinker than it usually did, and he tried not to laugh.

"Don't worry about me," said he. "I'm rather capable. But sorry for not telling you where I was off to. I was in a bit of a hurry, you know."

"What's it like in there, anyway?" she asked.

"A bit cold," Harry said promptly. Then he gave it a bit of thought and elaborated: "Instead of a Central Hearth, their fireplace is up against one wall. And I don't think they have a recreation room or a quiet study room. Unless they're maybe across the hall rather than directly connected to the Common Room. Oh, but they did have the most interesting light fixtures."

Hermione gave this assessment a great deal of consideration before she concluded: "Well, that seems … that is to say, that's too bad for them."

"Yes," Harry laughed. "The lamps don't really compensate. Hey, look, are you planning on taking your O-Levels and A-Levels?"

Hermione looked faintly appalled by the question. "But of course," she said. "I mean, otherwise … I might be stuck here, might'n't I?"

Harry nodded in agreement, thinking, _I really must keep my options open._ While the magical world was certainly plenty fascinating, Harry would be much remiss to abandon entirely the somewhat more rational and in some ways more comfortable society he had come from. His concept for yet another academic club was beginning to crystallize. He told Hermione, "I might need your help with a project."

She rolled her eyes. "You know, there really is only so much time in a day. I don't know how you expect to keep up with all of this. Don't think we're going to slack on Chinese."

" _Bù huì_ ," he said, meaning _not gonna happen_. "While it's true that there are only so many hours in a day, I find that there's somehow always room to squeeze in one or two more things."

"One or two?"

"Or three," Harry amended. Dueling practice with Draco, meeting with the inter-House society for education, and now keeping up to be ready for the O-Levels made three new things. And they were due to finally start enchanting this week, but that didn't _technically_ count as a 'new' thing per se.

"Harry," Hermione said quite seriously, "above all, you mustn't neglect your occlumency."

 _Oh, yes_ , he thought. Including the new thing that they had started the day prior, that made five. _Dueling practice, Education Society, O-Levels, Occlumency, Enchanting, Chinese,_ he enumerated internally. _And I feel like I'm forgetting one or maybe two things_.

Still, while Hermione might say 'there are only so many hours in a day,' Harry had long been thinking something quite different: _the day is long and I don't need a lot of sleep._ More to the point, he had recently come to have a newfound appreciation for the powers of delegation.

Suddenly, Professors Snape and Flitwick were coming in through the small door behind the head table, where they had been apparently waiting for the appointed time. Harry noticed that they were also joined by an interested-looking Professor McGonagall, but while Flitwick and Snape made their way up to the platform in the middle of the room, Professor McGonagall took a seat at the head table. Apparently, she had come only to observe the proceedings, rather than to participate, for she was soon sipping on a cup of tea and nibbling on a biscuit, looking for all the world like someone waiting for a show to start. She might as well have had popcorn, Harry thought with a little grin.

Harry found himself distracted again, though, as he remembered what he had shown the Slytherins shortly earlier and now related that to his favorite professor. He wondered if their world-famous professor of Transfiguration might herself benefit from a bit of knowledge about what the muggles knew about minerals and the physical sciences more generally. Certainly, he had seen the applicable relevance upon his first encounter with the subject, but he had also seen that the resident master of that magical art had only the faintest idea what he was on about at the time. He wondered if she might be even more incredible with a bit of a background in chemistry – and then there was the boar she had transfigured her desk into. Would a bit of biology make her even better at that kind of thing?

Harry suddenly realized that Professor Snape had already started talking. _Ah, yes,_ Harry thought, reeling his mind back to the present. _The great and noble sport of magical duels._ "– so it falls upon me, and Professor Flitwick," the potionsmaster was concluding, "to make sure that should the time come, you're ready to face the challenges of the real world. At least, those of you who demonstrate the qualifications to earn a place on your House team."

Professor Flitwick squeaked a little addendum: "Although we hope that just having the dueling club will cause each and every student of this school to renew their interest in the exciting world of dueling and the related subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

"Quite," Snape said, lips curling. It was clear that he found this to be more than optimistic, but perhaps, Harry thought as he looked at the man's somewhat long-suffering, sour expression, it had been one of the arguments he had used to get Flitwick and Dumbledore on board with this program to begin with.

The rules of a wizarding duel, as Professors Snape and Flitwick explained them, were extremely simple.

First, a duelist is disqualified for killing, maiming, or otherwise permanently injuring their opponent. Of course, as Professor Snape pointed out, in such a case there was no winner in the duel, since such a disqualification meant that neither participant was in a fit state to continue. "And indeed," piped up the excitable charmsmaster, "From 1897 to 1901, there was never a World Champion, since all of those duels ended in tragedy!" For some reason, though, Hogwarts's tiniest professor didn't seem to find it tragic so much as fascinating. Among the assembled students, there was a smattering of nervous laughter and much uncomfortable shuffling of feet.

A duel ends only when one participant is disarmed (meaning, more specifically, that their wand is in the hands of their opponent), disabled (meaning, to be precise, unable to perform spells), knocked unconscious, knocked off the dueling platform or ring, or if someone yields.

According to the World Championship of Wizardly Dueling's rules, participants would be given up to seven 'rounds' against each other, and it was the first duelist to successfully win four times who would win the 'set.' The winner of the set would advance in the tournament, while the loser would kindly make his or her way back to their homeland. In the World Championship, there was no prize for runners-up, even second place, unless you counted the dubious 'renown' of almost winning as a prize. However, here at Hogwarts, they would be doing the best of three instead of the best of seven.

While the World Championship of Dueling only had a youths division for persons aged thirteen through seventeen and an adults division for persons over seventeen – and just one Youth Champion and one regular Champion –, here at Hogwarts, the students would be divided into three brackets based on their year: the Alpha bracket of NEWT students (sixth and seventh years), the Beta bracket of OWL students (fourth and fifth years) and the Gamma bracket of everyone else. There would be an individual winner of each of the three brackets, as well as a runner-up and two people sharing third place (the two losers of the semi-finals), and all of these duelists would receive some points. In the end, all points from all brackets would be added up and it would be whichever House had achieved the highest score that would win.

Of course, as much as Professor Flitwick tried to emphasize that it was a team event, Harry wanted to win in his bracket. Harry, assuming that he made it onto the team, would probably be dueling primarily against third years, and maybe one or two second years, because, out of all of the first years in the school, Harry thought that only Draco and possibly Terry Boot had any chance of getting on their team, and he hadn't even had a chance to ask Terry if he was interested. Hermione could probably do it, but she didn't want to. Then again, there were plenty of wildcards whose abilities he didn't know well. Considering that he only had a week or two to prepare for the team try outs, at which point he would have to be at a third year level in dueling at the least, and then only until February to prepare for the tournament, that meant that he had his work cut out for him. Harry consoled himself with the thought that since there had evidently never been a proper Defense instructor, they would all essentially be starting from scratch.

There were a few additional rules, too. For one thing, phystical violence was strictly prohibited – no punching or kicking or anything. It was also prohibited to use weapons of any kind other than a wand or to use any enchanted item or potion. Also, summoning any object which was not already inside the ring at the start of the duel was prohibited.

Apparently, the fact that they were prohibited from using the Dark Arts or other dangerous spells went without saying, because Professors Snape and Flitwick never did say that. He was left to assume, then, that as long as they didn't do anything to maim their opponent, or anything blatantly against the law, it was anything-goes as per what kinds of spells they could use. This thought made Harry's list of Defense spells seem rather inadequate: what if he came up against an opponent that relied on transfiguration rather than these Defense charms, as he was beginning to understand many talented duelists did? Of course, Harry then remembered that he himself was extremely talented at transfiguration – maybe that should be _his_ dueling style, then? It was certainly rather more flashy than just relying on the Disarming Charm and the Stunning Spell. _Flashy is good_ , he thought, _but I'll do whatever's effective_.

"Are there any questions?" Professor Flitwick asked the assembly.

Harry raised his hand and waved it around energetically, thinking that it was his chance to get some clarification.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Professor, what about the dark arts? Are we allowed to use the dark arts?"

Several people nearby recoiled and regarded him as though he had grown a second head and it was out for blood. Others looked intrigued. Professor Snape's lips curled into a faint sneer as he regarded Harry darkly – Professor Snape must have thought, Harry reasoned with a slight inkling of embarrassment, that he was trying to 'make light' of this important orientation by bringing up the dark arts.

"Hypothetically," he added weakly with a little shrug.

Professor Flitwick gave a squeaky little chuckle. "Well, Mr. Potter. Hypothetically, as you say – the interesting thing is that different countries may have slightly different definitions of what spells are considered 'dark.' Furthermore, there are many countries in the world where the use of dark magic is not frowned upon as it is here in Britain. Rather than have all of the disparate member countries of the World Dueling Association come to some sort of agreement about what spells are 'dark,' the Association has simply prohibited the forty-two spells which are forbidden by the International Confederation of Wizards. Additionally, anything that causes permanent harm results in disqualification. So, in answer to your question, in the World Championship you may use any spell that is not on that list of forty-two as long as the result of that spell does not kill or maim your opponent, irrespective of whether your home country frowns upon that spell's use, although it may be considered highly advisable to check _local_ laws before doing so. _However_ , in our little dueling tournament here at Hogwarts, we do not have to worry about the difficulties of getting various countries to agree. Therefore, any spell which is forbidden by British law is also, of course, forbidden within the tournament. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, Professor! Thank you. Oh, but is there a list of spells prohibited in Britain?"

Professor Flitwick looked thoughtful. "Hm. I suppose it may be possible to get such a list from the DMLE. Let us just say, Mr. Potter, as a rule of thumb, that anything you learn out of any book here at Hogwarts, or out of any book you buy at a reputable bookshop, or of course in any class, will not likely be illegal."

Harry nodded. That was a good rule of thumb to avoid a stint in wizarding jail, he thought. That list of spells that would get you sent straight to jail without passing go, on the other hand, was something he'd be interested in taking a glance at. Merely as a curiosity, of course – it was probably an excellent read.

A few of the other students had questions, too, but they weren't anything very interesting, which gave Harry time to think up another interesting question of his own.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" Professor Flitwick asked hesitantly.

"What about the mind arts, Professor? I mean, can I _Obliviate_ my opponent and make them forget why they're in a dueling ring?"

"Ah. Well, that touches on your earlier question, Mr. Potter. The use of Memory Charms by any person who does not have a Ministry Obliviator's License is strictly prohibited by British law, and of course even then its use is tightly regulated, and it of course may not be used for sport or amusement. And I don't think you'll find it in a book in the library here, Mr. Potter. Remember the rule of thumb!"

"Oh, right, of course," said Harry. "But could I confund the opponent?"

It was with a great deal of obvious hesitation that the charmsmaster admitted that yes, you were allowed to confund, but it wasn't very sporting.

"Oh, that makes sense," Harry said. "What about legilimency?"

"It is against the law to legilimize anyone without their consent, Mr. Potter, unless you happen to be an authorized Auror with a DMLE warrant," the tiny professor told him.

"What about if I confund someone into giving me permission to legilimize them?" was the obvious follow-up.

"Anything said while under the effects of a Confundus Charm is not legally binding," the professor said after a moment's hesitation. "So, a confunded person cannot give consent to be legilimized. Does that answer your question?"

"I think so. Thanks, Professor!"

Professor Flitwick just gave him a weary look.

Professor Snape, however, decided to add his own token of advice to what he must have seen as an inadequate answer on the part of his colleague. He said, "You would do well to remember, Mr. Potter, that these are merely the rules of the game. In the real world, should you ever come to wands with a dark wizard, it would be extremely naïve to expect said dark wizard to pay any heed to any law, regulation, custom or nicety. In such a situation, you would be remiss not to be prepared to defend yourself against the mind arts – or the place you wake up wondering where you are will surely be less pleasant than a dueling arena."

Harry nodded very seriously. Professor Flitwick gave Professor Snape a slightly incredulous glance, which Professor Snape returned with an arched eyebrow and what might have, just maybe, been the slightest hint of a smirk. Professor Flitwick then shook his head as though to dislodge something unpleasant and asked the assembly if anyone else had any further questions.

Blaise Zabini did. "Yes, Mr. Zabini?"

"Hypothetically," the boy said, "what would happen if we _did_ kill or maim an opponent in a duel?"

"You would be disqualified, of course!" Professor Flitwick squeaked, appalled.

"More than likely," Professor Snape said silkily, "you would be disqualified, then have your wand snapped and be sent to Azkaban. Now, I assume there are no more questions."

At the answer to Zabini's question, Harry was beginning to feel just the slightest hint of doubt about this whole thing. He wondered if there was anyone opportunistic enough to use the dueling tournament as a guise to 'accidentally' off another student using a spell that wasn't _normally_ lethal, thereby being disqualified but avoiding a prison sentence. Surely the Ministry would not take such a dim view of a young student who happened to be party to a tragic accident like that. Looking around at the assembled students, it seemed that a number of other people in the Great Hall had similar concerns going through their own minds. He would definitely have to keep on his toes, because there were probably few students in the school that more people had a good reason to harm than himself. Harry squared his shoulders, though, thinking, _this is the price you pay for failing to get on the Quidditch team, Potter. Buck up!_ Because in the end, he still considered the goal of distinguishing himself, even at the risk of mortal peril, to be vital to his long-term success in the wizarding world.

"Now, in a wizard's duel, the most important thing is to be a good sportsman and a proper gentleman," Professor Flitwick said, which had Professor Snape taking a _very_ long blink that probably concealed rolling eyes. "Or lady, of course. For that reason, it's absolutely necessary to observe a few niceties of propriety. Now, just like how team captains will shake hands before a Quidditch match, in the sport of dueling it is customary for the opponents to bow to each other before the start of the duel. Now, first the duelists stand with their backs together in the middle of the ring, like this! Now, we each take ten paces away from the other. One, two, three, dum, dum, dee, ra, ra, ree … ten! You'll notice that we each took ten nice, long strides. Then, customarily we will turn and face each other, then bow for at least a good two or three seconds – and some duelists think it's _most_ polite if we hold eye contact while we bow. No curtsying, please – just a nice simple bow from the waist. Now, once we've risen and assumed our fighting stances – notice Professor Snape's textbook Aspfang Stance. I prefer a more mobile stance, I call this the Wasp Stance. I _used_ to call it the Hummingbird Stance, but then – well, that's an anecdote for another day! It allows for very good lateral mobility, I find. Of course, there are many different stances, and many people develop their own personal stance. The important things are: stability, mobility and accessibility – to the opponent, that is! Now, once we've both assumed our stance, that's the signal to the referee – Professor McGonagall, if you would? – thank you – that's the signal that we're ready to go. Usually the referee will wait about five seconds or so – just for dramatics, you understand – then strike a gong!"

Professor McGonagall did not have a gong, but she did have that spell that she seemed to use at least once a week which made a sound not unlike canon fire. As soon as everyone in the Great Hall was suitably deafened, the combatants were in motion.

Snape struck first – with the slightest twist of his wand, a blast of red light flew towards the charmsmaster across the stage. Flitwick was having none of that, though – a shield of silver light appeared and Snape's spell washed around it like a wave running round a skerry, and just as soon as it had passed, Flitwick launched three bolts in rapid succession at Snape, which caused him to jump stiffly to one side. Flitwick used this chance to quickly trot towards Snape, closing the distance by half. Snape fired off his own spells to keep the charmsmaster at bay, but the little ancient man was incredibly nimble, and just zigged and zagged around them.

Suddenly, apparently by some unseen signal, both wizards were unleashing spells with such extreme rapidity that Harry could not fathom how they were all dodged, blocked and swept aside – or even how they were cast at all.

Because neither duelist used a single incantation, and used what seemed to be truncated wand movements, Harry realized that the only reliable way to discern what spells were being fired would be to know precisely what they looked like – the color, whether it was a spiral or a straight bolt, whether or not it distorted the air with heat, and the particular frequency of the humming or whirring they made as they zipped by.

Within those first few seconds, Harry had given up trying to understand just what spells they were casting, since he had none of that information, and instead focused his mind on their movements. Snape moved in slight, quick jerks to avoid each spell by a hair's breadth, and kept his wand directly in front of his lower ribs or stomach to be ready to shield and deflect oncoming bolts. Flitwick, on the other hand, was constantly in motion, leaping to and fro with stunning agility, sometimes racing away from Snape and sometimes towards him. Harry understood the name of Flitwick's stance: like a winged insect, Flitwick kept both arms extended perpendicular to his body as he scrambled all around, such that his spells came from strange angles from his extended wand arm.

Suddenly, Flitwick spotted a weakness in Snape's defense – Snape's wand had drifted slightly up from its position in front of his core, and it seemed that it didn't quite provide adequate coverage over his lower limbs. Snape was struck in the leg with a swift streak of blue and he was launched into the air, and somersaulted once, and before he had landed Flitwick had struck his airborn backside with another spell, which sent the potionsmaster's wand high up into the air. Its path formed a tall parabola, reaching its apex just as Snape landed on his back on the arena floor with a great puff as all the air was ejected from his lungs. But Snape, obviously winded, was not defeated. Even as the potionsmaster struggled to breathe, he leapt to his feet and made to jump above Flitwick and grab his wand before it was in the charmsmaster's hand. It looked like he would get it, too – but as he was in the air, arm extended to catch his wand, Flitwick caught him in the chest with something that sent him flying back again, and before Snape had landed in a heap on the opposite side of the platform his wand was in his opponent's hand.

The assembly of students just stared for the longest time. Then someone was clapping, and then Harry was clapping, and then Flitwick was giving the student body a little bow as they all roared their approval, while Snape was rejecting McGonagall's hand to help him up.

Snape managed to stand, and Flitwick walked over to him and handed over the man's wand as he bowed to him.

Harry thought about what he had seen as the audience continued to roar. It was clear that Snape was no slouch when it came to dueling, but Flitwick's tiny body, combined with his incredible mobility, made him a much more difficult target than the tower-like, almost stationary figure of the potionsmaster, and it meant that his shields offered greater coverage.

Harry wondered if Snape had envisioned this somewhat humiliating defeat in a battle lasting no more than twenty seconds when he had agreed to form this club. To judge by the man's dark expression, he had not.

Professors Flitwick and Snape allowed the student body to cheer for a while longer before Flitwick squeaked for order in the Hall, raising his hands. Once the pink-faced, starry-eyed students had settled down, Professor Flitwick invited them to analyze and critique the duel.

Harry decided not to raise his hand – there was no sense in blurting out what he had seen, when there was a chance that he had been one of the few who had noticed it. To his chagrin, however, it was the very first point raised when Professor Flitwick called on a fourth year in Gryffindor whose hand was raised. She summed it up: "After you launched several spells at Professor Snape's face, sir, his wand had drifted slightly upwards in defense, leaving his lower legs exposed to attack."

Professor Flitwick chuckled. "Yes, yes, very true," he said. "A bit devious on my part, I'll admit, but that is the nature of the game. You see, causing your opponent to break their form will often expose weaknesses that they may not be aware of. I spotted early on that if I could just get Professor Snape to raise his wand a few inches, he would be exposed."

"A cunning ploy," Professor Snape complimented with only the barest hint of resentment. "Worthy of a Champion, I daresay."

"Oh, Severus, please!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed, blushing bright red.

Another Gryffindor spoke up without being called on: "But if Professor Snape were – er, tiny – sorry, I mean, if Professor Snape were a little bit more compact, that is to say, differently shaped, then it wouldn't have worked."

"Very true," Professor Flitwick acknowledged. "You'll notice that when I do my shielding charms, I do not even need to necessarily hold my wand in front of my navel, as a taller wizard would. Now, it is possible to overcome this weakness by simply making your shield much larger, or using a shield that is not circular – but either of those solutions would require expending a great deal more magic. Circular shields are far, far more efficient than, say, egg-shaped ones, and a shield of a radius of exactly one Agrippan _Armstück_ – or roughly thrity-five and one half inches, by our measure – is the most efficient of all, due to the arithmantic properties of the circle. Any other size or shape requires considerably more effort to produce – whether it be the standard Shield Charm or most any other. Advantageous for me, since I'm not that much taller than I am wide, and am less than seventy-one inches no matter how you measure me, but someone like Professor Snape must always bear this in mind."

The students tittered a bit at Professor Flitwick's frank assessment of his own physique, but Harry saw that of course it was no joke. Being pint sized made him not only a much more difficult target to aim at, but also gave him a huge advantage when it came to shields, since his shields were large enough to protect his whole body and then some. By contrast, Professor Snape's lanky body effectively limited where he was able to hold his wand to a tiny area around his stomach, less his shield leave something exposed. And indeed, when the two professors then demonstrated their shields, it was evident that they were exactly the same size, a size apparently determined by arithmancy, and that even when Professor Snape _did_ hold his wand dead-center, it did not quite fully cover him.

Harry had a thought cross his mind that he would have thought he'd never think: _I hope I'm never tall…._ While Harry had not given the rumors of the charmsmaster's dueling prowess much credence when he had first heard of them, now that he knew that the size and shape of spells was determined by the objective hand of mathematics, rather than somehow being proportionate to the caster's body size, as he had for some reason assumed, it now seemed almost inevitable that Professor Flitwick should be a masterful duelist. He found himself looking at the tiny man slightly differently.

"Of course, I made a great mistake that nearly cost me the duel," Professor Flitwick went on to say. "I hope everyone noticed – it was not subtle." And indeed many students raised their hands.

Professor Flitwick called on a third year Slytherin apparently at random, and Mr. Cupsworth pointed out that his Disarming Charm had been ill-controlled.

"Much to my chagrin," the charmsmaster said, indeed seeming quite chagrined. "It is of course one of the first spells any duelist learns – but a finicky spell, at times. I'm afraid that in my excitement I let it get away from me. A well-executed Disarming Charm will of course deliver the opponent's wand to your hand directly, rather than send it up to the ceiling first."

After answering a few more questions, the professors then launched into advising the sixth and seventh years what they would be looking for for their captains. Even Professor McGonagall stood up to give her Gryffindors a hint about her expectations for them. For the Hufflepuffs, of course, it was all meaningless, since they had already decided on a better method of selection, and a few of the Puffs, including Ernie, lapsed into muttering about how they wanted to see a rematch, or a duel involving McGonagall. Harry did take note of the points the Heads of House raised about their expectations for their captains, though, because he thought that similar things might come up in the debate.

Maybe he should have expected it – and maybe part of him had – but when, after the Puffs had assembled back in the Common Room, he was called upon to act as the debate's moderator, he could not help but hold his forehead in his hand and groan in dismay.

"Sounds impartial to me," Anthony Witly said with a bright grin.

"Come along, Harry," Lindsey Sparrow said as she hefted him up from the comfy chair that he had _just_ sat down in.

"All right, all right. I'm not really sure what I'm doing, though."

"You'll be fine," Lindsey said. "You're a natural at this stuff."

The fact that Harry felt merely irritated, and not as though he were about to start hyperventilating, he saw as a silver lining, not as proof that he was cut out for this kind of thing. Still, whether or not he felt that he was cut out for it, it did fit the image that he was obstensibly trying to cultivate, and so he really had no choice but to be carried along. Harry did note, however, that Professor Sprout had made an appearance in the Common Room, and tried not to give her _too_ bitter of a look for doing what, if you look at it, was really more her job than his. She had the gall to smile and wave in a way that was both reassuring and _proud_. He wanted to scowl.

"Being that I'm so short," Harry muttered, and set someone's handy copy of _The Standard Book of Spells Grade 4_ on the ground, then made it a few dozen times its original size and climbed up.

Harry didn't know Professor McGonagall's canon-fire spell, but wished he did just then, just to give his Housemates a bit of a fright. Instead, he raised his wand and shot off some suitable black and yellow sparks.

He cleared his throat, pocketed his wand and straightened his tie in the manner that he had so often seen Ernie do, and said, "My fellow Hufflepuffs. Today marks the beginning of a new tradition. I hope we will all be able to stand proud, and tell our children, when they are proud Puffs too, that we were here this day and we decided to do things _our way_. The Hufflepuff way. This is not just a debate to determine who should be the captain of some sports team. Well, it _is_ that. But it is also an expression of our deepest, most sacred virtues. Dedication – hard work – loyalty – these are not just _words_! Well, they _are_ words. But they are also _us_. They are who we are, and what we believe, and what we do each and every day. By having this debate, and by having the demonstrations this morning, we stand and say that we decide _to decide_ because we know that if we work together, we will succeed together!"

Harry wasn't entirely sure if the last bit really made any sense at all, but it seemed, by the roaring applause, that it didn't exactly matter.

"Our prospective captains – Sappho, Anthony, Abigail, Lindsey, Henry and Michael, come up here. There's plenty of room on this book for all of us. Or maybe not, let me make it a bit bigger. All right, get up here you lot. Our prospective captains. Look at them, Hufflepuff. These are the best among us – (out of those who wanted to be captain). Stand tall, everyone. You've all done well. You've all done us proud."

While the House was applauding their captain candidates, Harry hopped down from the platfom and beckoned Becca over to him. Handing her his hat, he hissed, "I need you to go round the fourth and fifth years and have them put some questions they want answered in my hat. All right? Nothing mean, obviously. And don't let anyone sign their damn name! Thanks!"

Becca gave him a bemused look, but shrugged and started gathering up the fourth and fifth years to one side of the room. Harry shot off some more festive sparks, this time really just because it was fun, and then said, "All right, candidates. First off, I'd like each of you to give us an opening statement. State clearly why you think that _you_ are the very best of the very best, and deserve the honor of being the first captain of the Hufflepuff Dueling Club. Easy enough, right?" There were a few scattered laughs, but out of the candidates on the stage only Sappho and Lindsey looked like they weren't about to be sick or faint. "Okay, easy enough. Er – Ernie, let me borrow your hat. And some parchment. Thanks." Harry quickly jotted down the numbers 1 through 6 on bits of parchment and put them in Ernie's hat, feeling rather silly for having just handed his own hat over to Becca. Not that there was any shortage of fancy hats to go around. "Okay, candidates. Draw a number, and the number will determine the order in which you deliver your opening statements. Sound fair? Okay, here we go. No trading – you get what you get. Okay, go ahead."

"I have a question!" someone yelled. Harry looked around at the candidates, then at the rest of the House, but couldn't be sure who said it. Finally a little Puff that was probably a second year pushed his way to the front of the crowd. "I have a question!" he yelled again, even though he was now very close to Harry.

Harry looked at him in confusion, and said, "You have a question?"

"Yes!" said he.

"Okay," said Harry.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, aren't you going to ask me what my question is?"

Harry's mind boggled. He shook his head. He said, "All right. In that case, I have a question. What is your question?"

" _My_ question is, what makes you qualified to be the – er – the whatever it is you're doing?"

There was a small uproar at that, a few of the Puffs even openly booing the question-asker. But Harry shot off some more sparks and called for quiet. Then he said, "Well, I don't really know. Er – I guess the sixth and seventh years thought that I would be impartial."

"Well?"

"Well what?" Harry said again.

" _Are_ you impartial?"

"Well. I mean, I certainly have an opinion of my own, if that's what you mean. But I'm trying to be as impartial as I can be."

"Well, _I'm_ not sure that that's good enough," said the boy. As the Puffs started booing again, this time more loudly, he shouted, "Hear me out! Hear me out! Just listen to what I have to say!"

Harry shot off some more sparks, which was at this point becoming something of a habit. "Everyone!" he called. "Let the kid explain what he means. He might have a good point, you know."

"Thank you," the boy said rather primly.

"You're welcome," said Harry.

There was a brief silence. A moment later, it dawned on Harry that the boy was expecting a prompt again, so he said, "Well, what did you mean, then?"

"I was only _wondering_ ," the boy practically shouted, "if perhaps Professor Sprout might be a better – whatever it is that you are."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, wishing he had a hat to adjust, but he wasn't about to put on Ernie's hat. Plus, it was filled with bits of parchment at the moment. He frowned as he tried to come up with a solution to this problem. In point of fact, he also thought that Professor Sprout would do the job better than he could, although it seemed to be going rather well so far. Finally, he called out loudly, "All right! I need a third hat! Sorry, could I borrow your hat?" he added to the boy whose name he still didn't know.

"Not likely," he said, crossing his arms. Crossing your arms, as it turned out, was not a good way to defend your hat. Someone behind him plucked it off and handed it back to Harry, who handed it back in turn to the question-asker boy, and then asked the boy who had stolen the hat to please 'volunteer' his own hat.

"Okay. Here's how this is going to work, people. I want each and every one of you – that is, everyone who wants to vote – to write either 'Potter' or 'Sprout' on a bit of parchment. Then our friend here is going to count the vote, and that'll determine who does whatever it is I'm doing."

The voting process took considerably longer than Harry would have expected, and then the counting of the votes took quite a long time too, and Harry was beginning to wonder if anyone was going to make it to dinner. Finally, the vote came out with 84 for Harry and 17 for Sprout.

"Okay, I hope we're all satisfied," Harry said.

"How do I know you didn't tamper with the parchments?" the boy asked suspiciously.

"How could I? I've been holding two hats this whole time, in case you didn't notice. Am I using my wand with my feet?"

"You weren't holding both hats while I counted the vote," he pointed out.

"I didn't touch my wand, either. Look – what's your name, by the way?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Never mind. Look, the vote's been cast, and that's that. Sorry it didn't go your way, but that's just how democracy works."

" _Well_ ," said the boy, "maybe we should have a _vote_ on whether or not we want to be democratic!"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

"In point of fact, we did," said Sappho Stone. "Last night, the sixth and seventh years had a vote to decide to decide things by _voting_."

In truth, the decision to decide according to Sappho's plan, as they were doing, was arrived at by more of an informal concensus than a proper vote, but Harry would hex the first person to say it.

The boy stared.

Sappho and the other candidates stared him down. Deep, deep down.

"All right," he said. "On with the show."

There was a great outburst of both irritation and relief as he finally relented. After Harry took a few moments to nurse his forehead in his palm, realizing that he'd probably be late to meet Draco at this rate, and definitely nobody was having dinner, Harry composed himself with another tie-straightening and shot off some more wand sparks – this time somewhat violently. _Oops_.

"Okay, everyone!" he said, trying to sound as excited as he could. "On with the show. Draw your numbers, candidates."

Harry had to feel a bit bad for Michael Sparrow, who went first. While the boy had a deft hand at both billiards and Charms, he was unfortunately not a convincing public speeker. When Harry managed to parse what he said through all of the stammering and the roundabout language, it seemed to boil down to something like, "Pick me because we'll definitely win if you pick me." Not inspiring.

Henry Rousseau, on the other hand, spoke so eloquently and at such length that people began to mutter about how long, exactly, he'd been preparing this speech. It seemed to many of them that he had possibly had recurring dreams about accepting positions of power with dignity and poise. Harry found himself thinking unflatteringly that it was probably about what Ernie would sound like accepting the position of Chief Warlock. While the words sounded good, it didn't really _work_. Of course, he received much more enthusiastic applause than poor Michael.

Speaking of Michael, it was his older sister Lindsey that went next. It seemed that she had learned from Henry's lukewarm reception not to lay it on _too_ thick, and unlike any of the candidates that came before her she had the good sense to actually say what would make her a good captain: five O's on her OWLs and a swift strategic mind sure to devestate the opposition. Seeing her speak so well made Harry feel even worse for Michael, but he refused to hold that against Lindsey.

Next up – and Harry made sure not to sound any more interested in her than any of the other candidates – was Sappho. Her voice had a special quality to it that had Harry double-checking that there wasn't any mind magic going on. She captivated the whole House's imaginations by conjuring up vivid portraits through metaphor that emphasized both her ferocity and her femininity. Although there was a time limit of five minutes, Harry wished she would keep talking for hours. He wondered if he might have a bit of a crush on her.

Abigail was the one that had the misfortune of following Sappho up. She tried to make the best of it, but Harry supposed he wasn't the only one to catch her sending sidelong glances at Sappho. It almost seemed like Sappho had won Abigail's own vote.

Finally was Anthony. Anthony, it seemed, was a very straightforward kind of chap, but that didn't do him any credit, because he ended up saying "I think we'll win as long as myself or Sappho is elected captain." Harry, despite agreeing with the second half of the assessment, had the urge to scream at the boy's idiocy.

Once their speeches were all done, Harry took the measure of the room. Unless his eyecontact geometry was faulty, which having grown up in the Dursley household it was almost certainly not, it seemed like half of the House was staring at her. Nor was Sappho unaware of it – she was pink and grinning. She looked adorable. Harry shook himself and shot off some more sparks.

"Wonderful, everyone! Your eloquence does your House proud. Er – is there anyone who'd like to give up?"

Lindsey hopped off _The Standard Book of Spells Grade 4_ promptly. Her brother looked at her in astounded consternation, then seemed to figure that if she was giving up, that meant that he _definitely_ had no chance, so the second Sparrow sibling hopped off the book as well. Abigail bit her bottom lip, then bent over and gave the shorter Sappho a peck on the cheek, before fairly running off the stage as the whole House laughed and cheered.

"Okay," Harry said slowly. He shot off more sparks for something to do while he waited for the House to settle down. Somehow the sparks formed a yellow heart and a black arrow shooting through it, which of course elicited another round of laughter and cheering. Abigail, for her part, was tomato red but grinning. Harry wondered if there was any point in voting at all, but he called Becca over for his own hat, which now was filled with bits of parchment. "Okay!" he said again, a bit more loudly. "Now we've got a few questions from the fourth and fifth years that we hope our remaining three candidates will answer.

"First question. Sappho, will you –"

Harry cut himself off and sent a glare at the cheekily grinning Becca before discarding the parchment and retrieving a new one.

"All right, first question. Since the entire tournament takes place on a single day, how will you approach strategizing against each of the other three Houses? A good question. Thanks, whoever wrote that. No thanks to who wrote the other one. All right, candidates. Er – who'd like to answer first."

Anthony Witly stepped forward. "I would use what we know about the other Houses to our advantage," he stated. "The Slytherins – you can expect them to have something nasty hidden up their sleeves, you know. I'll make sure our people are ready for it. Then the Gryffindors. Well, they'll probably be running around like maniacs, screaming their spells at the top of their lungs. I'll have our people train accordingly. Finally, the Ravenclaws. Well, they'll probably know all kinds of spells we've never even heard of, so I'll make sure that our people know superior shielding charms and every counter-spell you can think of, so we'll be ready for anything."

This 'strategy' was met with an amount of approval that surprised Harry, but he said, "Well said, Anthony. Okay, next?"

Henry Rousseau took a step forward and began speaking directly to the other male candidate in a condescending tone. "Well, the thing is, Anthony, you can't rely on those stereotypes. You've got to be ready for anything. A Gryffindor might have some sneaky tricks, or they might know some esoteric magic – you just never know. You never know what you have to be ready for next. So to that end – er – I'll train our team to expect the unexpected."

Harry wasn't quite sure that he was done, but Henry didn't say anything else, so he said, "Well put, Henry. Lastly?"

Sappho stepped forward, cleared her throat delicately, and said, "Espionage." She paused. Harry looked around. He wondered if he should ask her to clarify – but then she went on. "We will spy on every member of every team until we not only know every spell they know, but we know how often they go to the bathroom, and what flavor of toothpaste they use, and whether they put on both socks and then their shoes or go one foot at a time. We will know _everything_ about the enemy, but most of all, we will know their weaknesses."

Harry stood there blinking for a few seconds, then said as levelly as he could, "Well said, Sappho. Okay. Er…. Second question…."

When the vote was in and counted, about half an hour later, the blowout came to no surprise to anyone, least of all Harry. At the end of the vote, Professor Sprout came up to her and said, "Miss Stone, I have received your application for the captaincy of the Hufflepuff Dueling Club, and I would like to congratulate you on being selected. I know you'll bring honor to our House."

The party began immediately. The Hufflepuffs who were so inclined to have solid food that evening wandering into the Great Hall in small groups before quickly hurrying back, and generally bringing some of the Great Hall's food with them. Someone brought a whole turkey and Harry had to wonder how they'd snuck it under their robes, or if the staff had just turned a blind eye.

For Harry, though, after joining in the festivities for a polite duration, he was happy to go down to the Great Hall and eat by himself at the practically-deserted Puff table. So what if he got a few odd looks from the other students? Not like that was anything new. Soon, though, several of the other firsties trickled in too, and they sprawled out taking up far too much space on the table, and spoke far too loudly, almost as if to make up for their whole House's absenteeism.

 _Democracy is a bitch_ , Harry decided. _But it's totally Hufflepuff_.

* * *

Thank you very much for reading.

* * *

Some notes:

There were several more scenes that were meant to be part of this chapter, but it was starting to get a little bit long, so I decided to cut it off right here. I hope it wasn't too abrupt.

I decided it might be fun for the readers to have a chance to have some creative input on an OC. So the irritating second year boy has been left without any name or physical description, other than that he's short, on purpose. If such a thing strikes your fancy, I'd love to read who you think he is/should be. Bear in mind, though, that he might not come back for a while.

Cheers!


	16. Chapter 16

The Tinkerer

Chapter 16

When Harry arrived at the first room on the left going down into the dungeons at five to seven, Draco was already there, apparently having been waiting in the dark like some kind of vampire. Harry's wand lit up the boy's shoes first, then rapidly tracked up to his face, whereupon Draco said, "Hullo."

"Good God!" Harry exclaimed. "Hullo, Draco. Have you just been here in the dark?"

"Didn't want anyone to notice the wandlight," Draco explained. "Glad you could make it."

Harry shook his head, telling himself that in a way it sort of made sense, and he said, "Did you get the book?"

"Yes, _and_ I memorized the first few spells on your list. Good list, that."

Harry took another look around the darkened classroom. He said, "You must have really good dark vision."

"I read it earlier, idiot," Draco laughed.

"Oh, right," said Harry. "So. Where's this secret training room thing?"

"Well, it's not really all that," Draco demurred as he cracked open the door and peered up and down the corridor, then waving Harry to follow him. "It's a retired potions lab on the second floor dungeon. I don't think anyone knows it exists, anymore. It's really secluded."

"Potions lab?" repeated Harry. "Like an old classroom?"

Draco looked at him with an arched brow. He said, "There are four or five potions labs down here that are available for student use. However, they all have passwords to enter. My father used this particular one when he was a student at Hogwarts, and told me the password. When I looked in on it last week, it looked rather like nobody had been there _since_ my father was in school. I doubt even Professor Snape knows it exists. The other three that I know about are used all the time, of course. However, only NEWT students are allowed to use them unsupervised. That being said, a NEWT student can supervise younger students. Sometimes Lestelle will take the first and second years to get some extra practice. Lestelle doesn't care, he just does his homework while we work. He's just there in case something has to be vanished, you understand. I mean, he doesn't answer our questions or hold our hands or anything, he just lets us work. I asked him once about the properties of something or other, and he told me to look in the book. First and second year potions _can_ be dangerous, but only if you really bungle them – that's why we have to be supervised. I think one of the second years' parents is paying him for it, but I didn't ask. I wonder if Lestelle would let a Hufflepuff join us? I'll see about that next time, if you're interested. Or Longbottom, I suppose. He could use the extra practice, from what Corner said. Not that you should listen to Corner, the boy's an idiot – Ravenclaw or not. Anyway, we always use the lab that's right next to the Common Room entrance. But there's another one that the NEWT studnts won't let any younger students into, ever. Not really sure what they're doing in there, to be honest. Then there's another lab that people sometimes use when those two are occupied. But this fourth one, nobody even knows it exists, other than myself and Goyle of course."

"And now me," Harry said once it was clear that Draco was pausing for breath. "Well, thank you for showing me." He'd never seen the boy so excited before – but then again, they were going to be practicing dueling in a few minutes. Of course, as Harry gave Draco's rather odd behavior a bit more thought, it occurred to him that they had never really been alone together, except that time when Draco was revealing what his father had 'accomplished' on the Quirrell front – which was not exactly a good setting for excited gibbering. Generally, Mr. Goyle and Crabbe, at least, were rarely more than ten feet away from Draco, and more often than not they were joined by the entire Slytherin pureblood clique. Certainly, the pair had never gone on any kind of adventure before. He wondered if this is what Draco was really like when you got him alone, or if maybe he'd just had too much raspberry fool, which had been delicious.

It seemed that the path that they were taking was incredibly circuitous. They had already made about ten turns or so, and Harry really had no idea what cardinal direction they were walking in, or how their current position related to the Slytherin Common Room or the Entrance Hall. They had, at one point, even taken a staircase going down, the first such staircase that Harry had seen in the dungeons. "Are you sure you know where you're going?"

Draco laughed. "Of course I know where I'm going. I've only been studying maps of these dungeons since I was about four. Don't worry. I'll admit it's a bit of a long walk, but we're going the right way for Sunday night."

Harry just had to trust him, he supposed. It did occur to Harry, though, that if he had grossly misread Draco's character, and if this was some kind of joke, he would probably be lost for at least several hours down here. The map thing was interesting, though: "Your family has maps of this place?"

"Yes, of course," Draco said, giving Harry a strange look. "Well, I guess your family might not, come to think of it. All Gryffindors for centuries, right?"

"At least a few generations. I don't really know past that."

"And now you," Draco said, echoing Harry's earlier statement, then laughed.

"Oh, yes, the yellow stain on the family tapestry, that's me," said Harry.

Draco laughed, then he said, "I only meant the main line, of course – those that were born with and died with the name Potter, you understand. From what I understand, they've all been Gryffindors, until you that is, for quite a long time. So of course you wouldn't have any maps of the dungeons. _My_ family, on the other hand, have all been Slytherins for a very, very long time. Ever since we first set roots in this country, back in the 12th century. And of course, back in those days, these dungeons weren't nearly as large as they are now."

"You mean to say, your family expanded the dungeons?"

"Well, we had a hand in it, certainly. Many other families have contributed to the castle, over the years – building new towers and such. But for Slytherins of course the sensible thing to do was to keep digging and digging. Hogwarts is built on very strong granite bedrock, you know, so you can dig quite deep without really much risk."

"But I don't understand. What's the point of having all of this? I mean, it's deserted."

"Of course it's deserted _now_ ," said Draco. "Although, you only know Bagshot's version of history, I suppose…. Well, before the Muggle-Magical Wars –"

"The what?"

Draco was frowning quite a bit now, but somehow was still excited. "Oh, what did the muggles call them – the _witch hunts_ , right? As if we were animals! – of course, our people called it _war_. Anyway, before the wars – long before Secrecy –, it looked like the wizarding population in Albion – that's the old name for Britain, of course – would just keep growing and growing. Many of the more important families had several wives or concubines back then, and producing thirty wizarding children or more wasn't particularly rare. Not that polygyny is _favorable_ , you understand, but the result was a huge population surge on this island. And Hogwarts was the only school in Albion back in those days – and people would come from the Low Countries and France and Denmark and other places as well."

"A lot of students, then," Harry said, looking around. They had passed six or seven classroom doors already, just since they had come down the staircase to the subbasement.

"A lot of students, yes. You wouldn't believe it looking at it now, but there was a time when a lot of this was being used regularly. Back then, of course, there were House-specific teachers."

" _Really_?" said Harry.

"Oh, yes. Slytherin – and all of the Houses – were sort of schools-within-a-school during the hay day of Hogwarts. Instead of fighting with the other Houses for space up on the surface, Slytherin just built more classrooms down here. And _that_ door there, do you know what that is?"

It wasn't actually a door at all but rather a relief in the shape of a doorway – a pointed archway done in serpents and evergreens. At the center of the otherwise blank wedge of wall under the arch, Harry spied another ouroboros, this one with what seemed to be spiky fins along its back, and it was encircling an intricate celtic knot forming a heptagram.

" _That_ is where the Common Room and quarters for lower division students were. First through third years, you understand. In those days, the one upstairs was only used for NEWT students – although they didn't have NEWT exams as such back in those days, of course. There's a third Common Room somewhere around here – I haven't looked for it yet. And then there's a dining hall down here, too. But of course, there's not nearly enough students to justify any of that anymore.

"Honestly, I'm not surprised you don't know about any of this, though. Reading _Hogwarts: A History_ , and _A History of Magic_ , you'd think that the school's never really changed. Nobody wants to admit that our race is dying off, of course, but the evidence is plain as day down here. Well, it's pretty obvious on the surface, too, really. There's only, what, eight or nine classrooms being used on the surface? – and as many towers, nearly! I'll just say, they didn't build all of those towers and turrets just for more storage space. I mean, just look at Ravenclaw Tower. You know, it used to be occupied from basement to dovecote, but now they're only using it for the Ravenclaw Common Room, and you can't even access the lower levels. Gryffindor Tower's just the same, of course."

Harry ran his fingers along the spiked spine of the encircled serpent. The wall was very cold and very smooth. Looking closely at the relief, Harry saw that the serpent's visible eye was embedded with a mottled green and black stone.

"They're all sealed, of course. They say that the Headmaster can open up any of the sealed rooms upstairs – where the doors haven't been vanished altogether –, but down here supposedly nobody can open most of them. A lot of people have tried to open them up, of course, but they're barred by old magic. I don't think anyone's been in that Common Room for centuries. It still appears on the old maps, of course, and old journals from former students mention it. One of my ancestors briefly mentions the construction in one of his journals, actually. Anyway, the lab's right over here."

Harry used all of his mental cantrips to rapidly memorize the password, which was ' _totius nobilissimae philosophiae absoluta consummatio_.' He repeated the password to himself in a whisper, to help him lock it in his mind, and then he said, "That's a mouthful."

"Worth remembering, and not just as a password," Draco said seriously. While Harry _would_ remember it, he didn't ask what it meant. He was sure that at some point, unless he abandoned it, he'd eventually have to give in to the wizarding world's inclinations and begin learning Latin, and at that time he would know what it meant.

The door had swung open, and Harry and Draco entered to be treated to the sight of what was probably the worst-off classroom that Harry had ever seen. Despite the enchantments all over the dungeons that circulated the air, this room's odor spoke of the use to which it had been put in the intervening decades since it was last used by Malfoy the Elder – as a good place for Hogwarts' rodent population to come to breed, defecate and die. He wondered how they ever got in, but when Draco shut the door again, he observed by the light of their wands that there was a crack under it that was evidently large enough for them to squeeze through.

"It's not much, I know," Draco understated.

"Oh, it's great," Harry said saccharinely.

Around the room, Harry saw that there were a few shockingly solid tables pushed against the walls, and a few cabinets set into the walls, and precious little else. He set to putting some lighting charms here and there about the cornices and ceiling, and once cast in a nice orange glow, he could see that the room had potential – once it was cleaned up, that is.

"Do you know a vanishing spell?" he asked.

"Unfortunately not," said Draco.

"Oh, wait, I know one," Harry recalled, feeling foolish. The spell that he had used to clean out cauldrons in his _own_ potions lab made quick work of the rat dung and carcasses that littered this one, but they elected to leave the door open and take their chances with being discovered so that the air circulation spells could hopefully benefit the retired lab.

"All right, so what did you get from the library?"

"Well, I thought there was little point in wasting time with tickling jinxes and such like," said Draco. Harry noted that 'tickling jinxes and such like' were _not_ on the list in any case. "So, I thought we might start with the Disarming Charm."

"Excellent," he said. "How does it work?"

"Well, I don't know how it works, really – oh, how do you do it, you mean? – well, it's just a little ninety degrees withershins twist, and the incantation is _Expelliarmus_. I think I'm saying it right."

" _Expelliarmus_ ," repeated Harry. Then he said, "Wither-what?"

" _Wi-ther-shins_ ," Draco enunciated slowly, giving Harry a funny look.

"You'll have to forgive me. Wither- _who_?"

"Withershins means turning to the left, Harry."

"Anti-clockwise," he summarised. "Right. _Withershins_ – why not? Okay. So, just like this?"

Draco's disbelieving look angled itself from Harry's face to his hand but it only increased in the intensity of its incredulousness.

"You're holding your wand wrong, Harry," he said, speaking very slowly again.

"No, I'm not," he said. "This is how Flitwick said to hold it. _And_ the books." Harry remembered Justin's offhand insult about Weasley – _he doesn't even hold his wand right_. If Harry had been holding his wand wrong this whole time, that was humiliating.

"Well, not _wrong_ , I guess. But look, this is how you hold your wand when you're dueling. See? Put your thumb on the top. Right, like that. And then put your index finger forward, don't wrap it around like the other three fingers. Yes, that's the way."

Harry did what his friend told him, but it felt strange to hold the wand like that. "What's the point of this? Are you saying there's two ways to hold a wand?"

"This is how you hold your wand when you're dueling – that is to say, it's the grasp used by most dueling stances, although there are others. Most hexes and jinxes and things have been designed to have very small, precise wand movements. Things like a ninety degree withershins twist, see. Well, if you hold your wand with your thumb on the top, it's easier to tell that you've turned it exactly ninety degrees. An eighty or one hundred degree twist won't work nearly as well. It will probably _work_ , but not as well. If your thumb's not top and center on your wand in the 'zero' position, you're just guessing how much you've twisted it. Then you put your index finger forward for stability."

"All right, that makes sense," Harry said. "So, for other spells, you can hold your wand … that other way?"

"Yes, it's fine for things like _Wingardium Leviosa_ or what have you, because those spells don't use very precise wand movements anyway. But my father says you should always hold your wand like this, just so you learn good habits, even though the other way is more comfortable."

Harry tried turning his wand ninety degrees both _withershins_ and _the other way_ , and immediately discovered a problem. "Er, Draco, when I turn my wand like this, it points in a funny direction."

"That's odd. Let me see. _Oh_ , I remember now – you're supposed to turn with your elbow, not with your wrist. Er – yeah, that's a little better. I think it's okay to use a _little_ wrist. Keep practicing that. Let me just double-check the pronunciation."

After a minute or so, Harry was able to turn his wand a quarter turn withershins without pointing the wrong way, and Draco nodded in approval. Draco said, "Well. I was right about the pronunciation. You remember it, right?"

" _Expelliarmus,_ " Harry said.

"Watch where you point that thing!" Draco exclaimed. "Only joking, of course. It won't work if you're not trying. Okay, let's give it a go. Would you like to try first?"

Harry shrugged and walked over to one edge of the room, Draco taking the opposite, and tried the spell. To his shock, it very nearly worked – Draco's wand left his hand and clattered to the floor a yard to Harry's left. Draco was also knocked back against the wall, though, and Harry was briefly worried that he'd clocked his head, but Draco waved his concerns off. "No dueling without a few bumps and bruises, right? Anyway, don't worry about me, it's _your turn_ to get hit now, Potter!"

In some ways, Draco's first attempt was similar to Harry's: Harry was smartly slapped against the wall, feeling glad that he was standing right up against the wall so that he didn't fall on his arse, but also thinking that a wall-softening charm might be good to learn, if that existed. In other ways, however, Draco's first attempt was much less satisfying: Harry's wand was still firmly in his thumb-on-top, index-forward grasp and showed no signs of flightiness.

"You know, even though it's not supposed to happen when the spell is done properly, in a real fight that push-back effect might be dead useful," Harry commented. "It might be a good idea to remember how to do it that way."

"Maybe – but it would be even more useful if your _wand left your hand_ ," Draco groused, glaring at Harry's unmoving wand.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Try again," he said.

Within half an hour, they were disarming each other quite efficiently enough, although Draco was still a bit inconsistent about catching Harry's wand in his left hand. "Don't worry, wands can't be damaged that easily," Draco said, a bit chagrined as Harry's wand slipped out of his grasp yet again and clattered noisily to the stone floor. Draco's spellwork was perfect, he just had a particularly uncoordinated offhand. "Anyway, I'll work on that in my personal time. With Crabbe's wand. What's next?"

"How about the Stunning Spell?"

"Too difficult," Draco said promptly, causing Harry to frown. "How about something with fire?"

"I'm not really sure if we're allowed to light people on fire," Harry said sardonically. "Besides, we should stick with my list."

"Oh, just a little fire. It'll be fine. Do be a sport, Harry!"

Lighting things on fire was all well and good, but this meant that Harry would have to look up and practice the Stunning Spell on his own time. Rolling his eyes, Harry consented. "All right, why not? I already know the spell to light a cauldron flame, but that's not a lot of good in a fight," he said.

"That'll be _Incendio_ , I guess? Yes, it's great for lighting fireplaces and such but there's a whole _world_ of fire spells, you know," Draco gushed. Harry stared, wondering if he was putting his life in the hands of a pyromaniac. "Pansy's grandfather showed us a _wonderful_ spell that makes a sort of whip of flame, and you can wrap it round the enemy. Very effective, let me tell you. He used it to roast a pig, if you can believe it! We didn't end up eating it, though – it's not really a cooking spell. The pig was _very_ dead but not very well-cooked. Of course, he didn't say the incantation out loud – stingy, senile prig. And then of course there's Fiendfyre – well, I don't have to tell you how destructive _that_ spell is. Quite difficult though, and also illegal to even know _how_ to cast it, probably. But look, I found a lovely spell while I was doing that research – d'you know, I think I like the library? – and anyway, I think we can probably pull it off. It's not very tricky."

Harry looked over Draco's shoulder at the book. The spell was called _Tongue of Salamander_ , and by the description it quite simply sent a quick little stream of fire out of one's wand. It seemed to be rather simpler than _Incendio_ , and far more practical in a dueling situation – assuming that it didn't immediately immolate the opposition, which seemed like a minimal risk unless they happened to be covered in something like lamp oil at the time.

"That'll work," he said in appreciation. It was very intimidating but unlikely to seriously hurt anyone. It was perfect – even if it wasn't on the list.

By the time the pair of aspiring duelists had figured out how to make a thin stream of flames rather than a great self-dangerous puff of it, and had discovered that the tables in the room were very fire-proof but the cabinet doors were not, Harry's watch said that it was already just ten minutes before curfew. "We could stay out longer," Harry said.

"I'd rather not get detention this early into the term," Draco countered. "Everyone says that if you make a bad impression before Yule, you're in for a rough seven years. We've made good enough progress for one evening, I think."

"Yes, but –" Harry cut himself off. "Well, you're right of course. Anyway, tomorrow evening?"

"Tomorrow is fine with me," Draco said. "We don't have any homework assigned except for that Charms essay, so I should be quite available."

On the walk down the main corridor of the subbasement level, they passed the archway that supposedly led to the retired lower division Slytherin Common Room again, and Harry suddenly remembered what Daphne Greengrass had said that morning – _we neglected to tell you the password_. But there hadn't been a password to the Slytherin Common Room – he had just had to yell at the door to open. Surely, the password wasn't 'just open your arse up.' That would be strange, and inappropriate. He felt like he was missing something important.

Harry decided not to dwell on it. The answer, no doubt, would come to him in the middle of the night or something.

"Draco," he said. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Siblings? No. I'm a one-and-only. Why?"

"Well, it occurred to me, earlier you said that some wizards used to have dozens of children. But out of everyone at the school, the only family I can think of that has a bunch of children is the Weasleys –"

"– Just as many as they could afford, and then they had Ronald too," Draco snorted.

"And you said something about how our race is dying off," Harry added pointedly. "So why aren't there thirty little Malfoys?"

Draco seemed to think about it for some time. Then he said, "Well, I suppose the culture's just changed. There's no more space for us to spread out, you know. I mean, Hogsmeade is the last safe village on the whole island, and it's full. With the war and everything, it just made more sense to consolidate rather than disperse. People were dropping like flies, during the war, you know. I think a lot of young families wanted to have a child, so that they wouldn't be wiped out, but didn't want to have a lot of children, because that might just mean a lot of orphans."

"But _after_ the war," Harry said. "You know, after World War II in the muggle world, there was something called the baby boom. All of the soldiers came home and got married and had a bunch of kids, all at once. And the muggle population – well, boomed. So I wonder why there wasn't a baby boom in the wizarding world."

Draco was momentarily distracted by his disgust at the concept, but then he seemed to look at it more pragmatically, and his conclusion was, "Not enough survivors, maybe. Our parents' generation was devastated, you know – hundreds of young people killed…. Or maybe, people think the war might not really be over."

Harry glanced at Draco sharply. While Harry knew that Voldemort lived, he had thought that he was one of the very few that knew that. "You mean, people think that Vol – You-Know-Who might come back?"

Draco shrugged. "A lot of people have different ideas," he said noncommittally.

Harry pressed: "And some people believe that he isn't really dead?"

Draco frowned, now. "The problem is, he just disappeared out of the wide open blue, and nobody knows how or why. There are unanswered questions about the whole thing. There are a lot of different theories, but nobody can prove anything. So even though the world celebrated his downfall, it left a funny taste in the mouth. You know? And besides…."

"Yes?"

"Well. Even though the Dark Lord was … well, even though he _disappeared_ , is probably the safest way to put it – the root causes of the war haven't been addressed, you know? I mean, the issues haven't changed, and a lot of people still want change. So even if the Dark Lord _is_ dead, a lot of people think that someone else will rise up to take his place and continue his work, because the work isn't done yet. In fact, the Ministry's only gotten worse since then."

"You can kill the revolutionary, but you can't kill the revolution," Harry summarized quietly.

"Precisely."

In a strange way, Harry almost wanted to sigh in relief. Somehow, this way of looking at things somewhat, very slightly assuaged the guilt of being the one who kept Voldemort alive. It didn't _really_ matter if Voldemort was alive or if he was dead. By himself, Voldemort had just been one very powerful wizard – capable of doing a lot of damage, perhaps, but not by himself capable of changing a society. But he had had followers, and allies. In that sense, whether he lived or died was immaterial, because if he died someone else would just rise up – if not immediately after, then after a decade or two – because his position had been popular with a lot of people.

But then Harry had a chilling thought: what if it was _him_ , Harry, that was destined to rise up and fill Voldemort's shoes? After all, hadn't Harry taken one look at this society and immediately begun planning with Hermione how to change it? – and while Harry had said that he wanted to do it slowly, was that not, perhaps, just because he didn't appreciate just _how_ slow his opponents would make it if he played by their rules? Harry couldn't quite picture himself turning into a terrorist, but he was already a radical and perhaps that was only one step away. He tried to imagine Voldemort at eleven years old, wondering if he was already on the same path, but it was impossible to imagine a child version of the Dark Lord.

"Do you think that just having more land would help?"

"Sorry?" Draco asked – apparently he had been lost in his own thoughts, too.

"I mean, if our kind took land from the muggles, or even created new land, which I think might be possible, and built more villages, or even cities, and perhaps even financially incentivized people to have large families, do you think that would be enough to change the culture? Would that be enough to satisfy people that we aren't being wiped out?"

"It would help, certainly," Draco allowed. "But there's still the fear of muggles. As long as they keep multiplying, it'll be difficult to convince people that we're safe."

"It's hard to imagine, us being afraid of the muggles," Harry said.

"Because of magic, right? But magic can't solve all of our problems, not really. During the Muggle-Magical Wars – well, at the beginning of the wars – wizards made up a much greater percentage of the population. And the muggles had much less sophisticated weapons back then. But even so, there were so many of them … and they would often target children, who didn't know to hide their magic, and couldn't fight or flee – and then they would kill people while they slept, too – and remember that most people can't Disapparate without a wand, so being caught without your wand, or having it broken …. that's why we went into seclusion, really, you know. To protect the children, and let people sleep at night without keeping their wand under their pillow."

"Even the muggles admit that the witch hunts were horrible," Harry said. Of course, muggle history books didn't remember it for what it was: genocide, or attempted genocide, perpetrated by church, state and mob alike.

"They say that the muggles often targeted the wrong people," Draco said. "If there weren't any witches around, any old crone or gypsy or drifter or heretic would do the trick. But they found real witches often enough. Today, though, the real problem is the muggleborns."

Harry looked at Draco sharply again. "How is that?"

Draco seemed a bit chagrined by his statement, as though it had come out wrong, or as though he had forgotten just whom he was speaking with. "Well," he put delicately, "it's the big loophole in the Statute of Secrecy, isn't it?"

"Loophole?"

"No muggles are supposed to know about magic – unless they happen to be related to a witch or wizard. So you have parents, siblings, grandparents, sometimes aunts, uncles, and cousins, all knowing about it, sometimes even owning enchanted items, or having the muggleborn's books laying around for anyone to find. For each muggleborn, there's a whole household of muggles, at least, that know all about it, and they're not always discrete about knowing, either."

Harry frowned. "I see what you mean," he admitted somewhat grudgingly. The International Statute of Secrecy was flawed in that way – but the question was, how could it be done any better? "Not just about the Statute of Secrecy loophole," he added, "but about the threat of the muggles, too. If they found out about us … it might be all right in Europe, but there are a lot of places in the world that wouldn't accept witchcraft. Not that I agree with _killing_ them, like You-Know-Who did…."

"No, not killing them," Draco agreed, looking rather surprised by what Harry had said. "They're human beings – _Homo sapiens inferiror_ is still _Homo sapiens_. Nobody is proposing killing them off."

Harry looked at Draco blankly. What an odd statement to make! Of _course_ that's what You-Know-Who was proposing to do. But then, growing up in the post-war period – _no, the inter-war period,_ Harry reminded himself – it might be easy to forget, in some circles, or to justify how many muggles had been slaughtered, like Harry's own grandparents had been slaughtered, by the forces of Voldemort.

"At any rate," Harry said, electing not to remind Draco of facts that he found inconvenient any further, if only to remain civil, "it does _seem_ like there's a solution to all of this, one that doesn't require bloodshed."

Draco eyed Harry speculatively for a moment. Then he said, "Do let me know what you come up with, Harry."

 _Great_ , Harry thought, wanting to slap himself on the forehead. Now Draco thought that Harry was going to literally solve all the world's problems – "Well," Harry said, "I can find my way back to Puff from here. Er – see you tomorrow, Draco."

Draco's worldview had given Harry a lot to consider. While Harry had some rather big problems with the way wizarding society was run, and while Harry planned to keep his options open in case he wanted to make a career in the muggle world when he grew up, that wasn't to say that he wanted his own kind to be wiped out any time soon. And as Harry took his solitary path back to the Badgers' Burrow, he could not help but take notice once more of all of the unused rooms everywhere and all of the corridors that led only to dead ends because what they used to lead to had been sealed off – he could not help but consider that maybe Draco was right in saying that their kind was dying off. The castle seemed to lack the vital vibrance it usually had and felt very cold just then.

But what was the solution?

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed when he entered the House of Huff. "Where have you been?"

"I've just been with Draco," Harry said. There was no point in lying to her, not really, but he added, "It's sort of secret, though."

"Draco? What have you been doing with Draco for the last two hours?"

"I'll tell you – _quietly_. Actually, maybe we should go somewhere private."

"Good luck finding somewhere private," she said. The Common Room was still bursting with activity even then. It seemed like the party wouldn't wind down for another few hours, in fact, never mind that the following day was Monday.

Harry scanned around the Common Room, spotted that some of the first year girls were missing, presumably in their dorm, but all of the boys were present, so he tugged Hermione by her sleeve down the corridor that led to the boys' dormitories. They passed Henry Rousseau in the corridor, and Harry thought that he was about to be told off for bringing a girl into the boys' dorms, but Henry just grinned widely and said, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" He was drunk! _So much for prefects_ , thought Harry. Then again, Henry was in the delicate situation of acting supportive of the team captain while hiding his personal disappointment at having lost so handily, so perhaps it was somewhat excusable that he should fortify his spirit. Harry nodded seriously and continued to the first years' dorms.

On the way, Harry tried to think of a good way to broach the subject of the social issues that Draco had addressed, but he found himself at a loss for how to bring it up to her, particularly when he had no solutions to the issues, and particularly when he ran the risk of having his head filled with nonsense by the oldblood heir, having just been meeting with him. So, after Hermione sat down on Ernie's bed, and Harry sprawled out over his own bed, he said, "Draco and I were just practicing some dueling spells."

"Practicing spells?" she repeated. "But whyever would you want to keep that a secret?"

"Well, a few reasons. First of all, I don't want any of the other first years in our House tagging along. I know that you're not interested in dueling, but Ernie and Susan definitely are. If they were to come along, too, I'd be ruining my advantage during the try outs."

Hermione frowned a bit, but she said, "That makes sense."

"Also, I don't want anyone to accuse me of helping the other team. You know, I'll be giving Draco an edge in getting on his own team, as well – making the Slytherin team stronger overall. Once you consider the inherent advantage of having younger students on a team, it doesn't really look good that I'm helping one of them, even if he's helping me, too."

"How is it inherently advantageous?" she asked.

"Well, look at it like this. If Draco and I are good enough to compete with third years now, then by the time _we're_ third years, it'll be completely unfair."

"I see what you mean," she said, eyes slightly wide. "And then in fourth year, when you advance to the Beta bracket, you'll have no trouble at all with the best fifth year students, probably."

"Right. Picking first and second years for Gamma squad, fourth years for Beta and sixth years for Alpha might be risky _this_ year, but next year, any team who does that now will have a huge advantage. An advantage which, in a small way at least, I intend to get for Puff – but which I'm also helping Slytherin get."

Hermione shook her head. "I doubt Gryffindor, at least, is going to be thinking about next year already," she said.

"In truth, I just want to be on the team. But I think it makes sense strategically, too, because despite what Professor Flitwick is hoping, I doubt much of what we learn in the dueling clubs will 'filter down' into the rest of the school, not in any significant way. It'll almost exclusively benefit actual club members. Of course, it would be even _better_ if I helped Ernie and Susan get trained up, too, since that would increase the team's advantage. But I'm being selfish – I don't want to increase the competition against me getting on the team. So I don't want them to know that they're being excluded."

Hermione gave him a somewhat devious look, then, and she said: "How can you be so sure that _you're_ not being excluded?"

"What?"

"It's just, how do you know that Susan and Ernie aren't practicing together without you?"

Harry blinked. It had never even occurred to him that they might be. "Are they?"

"How would I know, either?"

Harry threw a pillow at her. "Very funny," he said. "Although if they're serious about getting on the team, that's exactly what they should do. They must know that I'm their biggest competition out of the first years, so if they're smart, they _will_ exclude me."

Hermione snorted. "You really have to stop saying things like that, Harry."

"Why? Are you going to burst my bubble?"

"I just might," said she.

"I thought you weren't even interested in dueling."

"I wasn't. But now that it sounds like you might actually stand a chance of getting on the team, I kind of feel like pulling you back to Earth before that big head of hot air carries you off into the stratosphere. So maybe I'll propose to Ernie and Susan that we three train together and leave you out in the cold."

Harry shrugged from his reclined position. "I'm not adverse to some competition, exactly," he said. "I just don't want to share my advantage with everyone. It's just business. That being said, you're more than welcome to train up, too. It'd be fun having another first year on the team."

"You're not _on_ the team, yet, Harry Potter," she reminded him. "And there's some pretty strong contenders in second and third year, you know. It's been all the talk at the party, who thinks who's going to get picked."

"And _everyone_ thinks that I'll get picked," he pointed out smugly.

"Not everyone," she said. "There was one particularly vocal boy who thought you didn't have a chance."

Harry groaned. He suspected he knew who that was. "Never mind him," he said, getting up from the bed. Harry saw that Hermione was about to get up to, and so he said, "You stay put. Hang on," and started rummaging through his trunk, finally retrieving the bag which contained the six abacuses ( _abaci_? – he still wasn't sure) that he had purchased the morning before. "Look," he said, spreading them out on the floor between the two beds, "I've had an idea about these."

"Oh, do tell," she said unenthusiastically, regarding the beaded devices warily.

"More features," he said, grinning.

"Like what?"

"Well, look, so far it can only do math, right? _Six times seven_ ," he added to demonstrate. The abacuses all snapped into the position of 42, displayed either by numerical flippers or just by the beads, depending on the feature set of the particular model.

"What else could an abacus be used for, though?" she asked.

"Picture this, like this," Harry said, holding one of the smallest models over his left wrist. "What does that remind you of?"

"The nerdiest pocket calculator known to man?" she asked.

"Yes, obviously, but look more closely."

She seemed to look more closely, then she looked at Harry blankly. He explained: "What if it told the time, too? _Good-bye_ , mechanical wristwatch, _hello_ time-telling magical wrist-abacus!"

Hermione seemed quite doubtful. "It's a bit more cumbersome than a watch, isn't it?"

"Well, sure, like this. It can be made smaller, you know."

Now she was nodding thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose if you made a very small model, with one of those numerical displays, that might be quite useful."

"Quite useful? I've just made wristwatches obsolete. _Quite useful,_ my knee. It's revolutionary."

"Well," she said, "it's not bad."

"Now I've just got to go out and buy some magical clocks, I think …"

"There's a description of how to make a magical clock in _Artifice_ ," she pointed out.

"Yes, well, I'd like to take one apart …"

"There isn't much to take apart, though. Magical clocks don't actually have clockwork, not really."

"Oh, fine," he sighed. "Well, it should be easy enough to make an abacus-cum-timepiece, don't you think?"

"I don't see why not," Hermione said. "In fact, a lot of people already carry around one of each. It would be very convenient for a lot of people to combine them. And then, having a wearable abacus would be convenient in and of itself."

"Precisely. Now – more features!"

"More?"

"Of course, more. Now, you've read _Everyday Enchanting_ –"

"You know I have."

"Do you remember the mirrors?"

"You know I remem – wait, that's actually quite brilliant!"

Harry nodded, feeling quite smug. "So, you see?"

"Yes – you can do away with the silly numerical flippers altogether – it would be simple to enchant a mirror to display the numbers!"

"Well, yes, quite. But think bigger, Hermione."

Hermione pondered for a moment, then it struck her. " _Susan's_ mirror – communication!"

"Now you see," Harry said, grinning. "And our abacus-cum-timepiece is now an abacus-cum-timepiece-cum-telephone. _Better_ than a telephone – a videophone. A device like that, you could probably sell for fifty or sixty galleons apiece! It'll be a mint – and more to the point, we'll be minted. _And_ change the world."

"Change the world? Well, it's certainly ambitious," she allowed.

Harry rolled his eyes, though. "Hermione, tell me, what's the biggest problem with Susan's mirror?"

Hermione thought about it but came up empty, shaking her head after a few moments.

"Okay, let me phrase that question a different way," Harry said. "Why is it that, despite mirrors like that existing, people are willing to _stick their heads in fireplaces_ instead of using them?"

"The floo can connect to anyone," Hermione said, and it was only after she said that that her eyes widened. "I see what you mean about changing the world, now. But the problem is, how does the floo network even work?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea," he admitted. "But we'll figure it out. And we'll replicate that plumbing – what's a word for plumbing for fireplaces? Chimneying? Smokestackery? –"

"Well, it's called the floo network, so I think _networking_ might be the term –"

"Not very _magical,_ but all right – we'll figure out how it works, and create a mirror network that does the same thing. Other than being able to step through it."

But Hermione now looked _very_ thoughtful. "I wonder if we could make one that you _can_ step through?"

"Probably you'd get stuck in Wonderland … but it's worth looking into, definitely," Harry said thoughtfully.

"I really don't think Wonderland is real," Hermione pointed out.

"Only joking, of course. But then again, a few months ago I really didn't think _dragons_ were real, so who's to say … _only_ joking! But there would be a practical difficulty," he added. "If it's a device strapped on your wrist."

"Right. It might not work out so well, traveling by wristwatch," Hermione said. Then, apparently imagining what it would look like to be sucked into your watch, she started giggling. Harry rolled his eyes again but he had to laugh, too. It was a peculiar mental image.

"Still, worth seeing if mirror-travel is something that's been attempted. And anything else to do with mirrors, clocks and abacuses, for that matter. _Oh_ , I've had another brainwave – if we're using a mirror as a display, that means we can probably make a graphing abacus!"

"Brilliant," Hermione said. "One thing at a time, maybe, but that's brilliant."

"More features, come on," Harry prodded. He was really starting to have fun with this.

Hermione thought about it some more, and she said, "You know, there's another kind of magical clock, too. Instead of telling you what's the time, it tells you what it's time _for_. Like teatime, bedtime, time to pay the mortgage – whatever it might be."

"Brilliant," Harry said. "I think I've got one – what about a fax machine?"

"If you can send a picture of your face, why not a document?" she agreed. "We'd have to think of a way to print, though."

"It's even better if it's a separate device, of course – more gold, you know –"

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes, but she said, "I think it might have to be a separate device – unless we want to make a larger version of this –"

"Well, of course!" Harry exclaimed. "A mobile one, then a permanent one for the office, one for at home – we'll be printing money. Er – forging it, or whatever."

"Casting it?" she offered. She wasn't sure, either. They locked eyes and laughed.

Harry said, once he had stopped laughing, "It'll be like having the Philosopher's Stone."

"The what?"

Harry gave her a strange look. "You know. The Philosopher's _Stone_?"

"I _heard_ you, but what is that?"

"It's an old muggle myth. I read about it when I was doing research for one of my computer games. Supposedly, it turns base metals like lead into gold – among other things. I wonder if it's real? Well – it couldn't be. Gold would be worthless if it were real. Anyway – we'll be _rich_ , Hermione! Well, rich _er_ in my case."

"Don't be a prat," she said.

Harry just laughed again, though. "Just _think_ about how those apparatchik shrubs at the Ministry will react when you tell them you won't be needing another student loan next year – and by the way, here's the whole outstanding balance in one lump sum, thank you very much and have a nice day."

"That _would_ be nice," she said wistfully.

" _Will_ be, you mean. Anyway, let's talk design."

"Right," she said, coming out of it. "How is this even going to work?"

"First, we should start with a development version, of course. Proof of concept, you know. Now, this version is going to incorporate the first three features we were talking about – an abacus, a clock and a mirror to display the output of abacus and clock. Right? We'll make it a communication mirror in the next version. Now, the way I figure it, the difficult part will be coming up with, or finding, a spell that can display alphanumeric characters on a mirror. After that, it's just a matter of tying the abacus and clock into it by altering the enchantments already used for the number flippers and clock hands, respectively…."

An hour later, when Harry's dormmates finally came in to go to bed, the abacuses all over the floor had been joined by several sheets of parchment which had sketches of the developmental product, as well as the generic runic arrays for basic clocks and abacuses which were found in their enchanting books. Ernie looked around, first at Harry, then at Hermione, who was on his bed, then at the pile of abacuses and parchments on the floor. Then he shrugged, told Hermione to budge over, and very casually laid down on his bed, causing Justin, Wayne and Neville to go into hysterics. Hermione checked the time, gasped, made her excuses, and darted out of the room, leaving Harry to pile all of the items into his trunk.

"What were you two working on all this time, anyway?" Justin asked.

"Oh, you know us – just changing the world, one wristwatch at a time."

"Ah, right. Well, g'night Harry – g'night everyone."

The next morning, Hermione found Harry by the Hearth well before breakfast, and to Harry's eyes it looked like she had hardly slept because _her_ eyes were very red. "The problem is," she said without preamble, "actually making the physical object. I mean, it's just an abacus glued to a mirror that's also glued to a clock, sure – but that's a few thousand runes, easily. I mean, how do you even _etch_ runes that tiny?"

"Easily," said Harry. "Forget about all of those designs from last night. All rubbish. I've got a new idea. Modular, efficient, and we will use muggle means to do it."

"Muggle means?"

"CNC laser cutters and other muggle machines can be leveraged to do rapid, mass etching of all kinds of materials, of course including the metal and glass that our devices would be made of. Using these muggle tools alongside magical techniques will produce higher-quality products, and will do so considerably more cheaply, than any enchanted etching knife ever could. Look at this –" and he produced from his robe pocket the tiniest of his abacuses, which he had decided to carry around so that he could study it further whenever he had a few spare minutes "– and tell me what you see."

She took it from his hand and regarded it closely, clearly suspecting that it was another one of his games, but eventually she just sighed and she said, "It's an abacus, Harry."

"Wrong," he said promptly, and she scrunched her face up in annoyance. Trying not to smile, he said, "What you see here is a _waste_."

Harry was hoping that Hermione would ask him to explain, but she just glared at him expectantly. He flashed her a little grin and he said, "Hermione – look more closely. A wooden frame. Little wooden beads moving on little metal rods. Do you know what that is? It's a _bad design_. It's fragile. It has too many moving parts. Why beads? There's no need to use any beads, really. The enchantments do the calculation, and then additional enchantments move the beads so that the user can see the output. Now, if you wanted an abacus which _only_ did the calculation, and had no way of reading the output, you could reduce the size of this thing by, I would wager, sixty to seventy percent, easily, and probably more. A design which does not use beads, or any moving parts, will be able to be considerably smaller than this hand-held version, even just using _current enchanting techniques –_ namely: using a specially enchanted etching knife to etch the runes perfectly – that is, as perfectly as a knife can do it – which is how this abacus was undoubtedly made, and how most enchanted items on the market today are currently made. _Now_ , if we use something a little _more_ intelligent than an enchanted etching knife – namely: muggle CNC laser cutters – I believe we can fit all of the necessary runes on a surface less than a square centimeter. Do you see what I'm talking about? A _chip_! A magical microprocessor!"

"But you _must_ display the output," Hermione pointed out.

"Yes, clearly, and we'll accomplish that using a different runic chip. A separate chip dedicated to display functionality, which is connected both to the abacus core chip – the central abacus unit? – we'll think of the terminology later – and the display chip will also be connected to the mirror display. Using a modular design like this, we'll reduce unnecessary redundancy while making the device easier to repair and assemble. It will also allow us to use considerably stronger materials, materials which cannot easily be worked by etching knives."

"And," Hermione realized, "a modular design will, furthermore, make the device extensible without requiring the whole thing to be re-designed. Using enchanted _chips_ instead of etching the runes all around the surface of the object…."

"Precisely. Now – we're planning far ahead of ourselves, Hermione. Well, that's what you do when you're designing the future, I suppose. But first thing's first – we must design these two chips, and hook it all up, and see that it works like I expect it to work. So – delegating! Would you rather work on the display chip or the abacus chip? – we will add a clock and a communicator and whatever else we want to add in later, once we determine whether this design paradigm is tenable."

"I suppose it really doesn't matter to me," she said. "I mean, we'll probably end up redesigning them again when we try to connect them together, in any case –"

"Now, I want you to think carefully about this, Hermione. In fact – answer me this evening. While you think about it, bear in mind that you're about to embark on a very specialized project, and consequently there's the chance that it will define your future endeavors – will you be a display chip specialist – and later, more broadly, an input-output specialist – or an abacus chip specialist? Because while it's true that we will undoubtedly have to make some small modifications to our designs in order to get the chips to communicate with each other, the natural thing to do would be to model the bridge between the abacus chip and the display chip after whatever design we come up with to bridge the display chip and the mirror. In other words, coming up with a bridge will be primarily the responsibility of the one who designs the display chip, since in this simple, two-chip design, the display chip will be the only component that's connected to two other components."

In Charms, after having successfully demonstrated the Wand Light Charm – and getting five points for Puff for demonstrating the Lantern Light Charm and the Beacon Light Charm – Professor Flitwick seemed perfectly content to allow Harry to work on his own projects while most of the rest of the class continued to struggle at it. While a small part of Harry wished that it was more like Potions, where one could just leave as soon as their brew was completed, the fact that the professor would at least allow students to read their books and even work on papers once their work was done in these practical lessons was quite permissive, so Harry really had little room to complain. Of course, sticking his nose in his books did earn him a dirty look from Hermione, who still hadn't given up on the concept of going around the classroom and helping the other students, despite the negative experience of their first attempt at so doing, both to earn their favor and to rack up a score of House points. For Harry, though, it was simply not worth the trouble of dealing with the likes of the Gryffindor boys, all of whom he disliked, or exposing himself to more of Zabini's odd looks.

Yet Runes were almost as infuriating as Weasley and Zabini, and he found himself rubbing his temples as he tried to work them out. Runes had to be the most bizarre and baffling programming language ever designed by mankind – of course, that was probably part of the problem Harry was having, trying to think of it as a programming language, which it was surely not. If it were to be compared to a programming language, however, it could be said that each of the two hundred and ninety-four standard Nordic runes could represent either a function, or a fragment of a function, or they could represent a real-world object, or they could represent a runic group that appears somewhere else in the array, or they could represent some sort of logical operation, or they could indicate any number of other things – all depending on their placement, their sequential configuration, and, most infuriatingly of all, the _intent_ of the runecarver.

While it was possible to memorize all of the different uses of each of the two hundred and ninety-four runes, it was this _intent_ part that was driving Harry around the bend, because it meant that the runes sometimes did _not_ really explain what the enchantment was supposed to do. Even one of the simplest runic clusters, the tri-rune that was traditionally used to make stones give off light, could _technically_ be interpreted any number of ways – and Harry's enchanting book made sure to point out several 'additional applications' of the tri-rune, one of which, bafflingly, was to make a stone that absorbed light instead of gave it off – without altering a single scratchmark! What, precisely, the stone would do largely depended on the intent of the runecarver.

For somebody with a background in computers, it was extremely counter-intuitive and baffling.

On the other hand, of course, the advantages were clear: even if you made a small mistake, or left something vague, your _intent_ would fix any bugs and fill in any gaps, and the object would probably do just what you wanted it to do. If he could just wrap his mind around the concept that runes were _not, not, definitely not_ a computer programming language, he was sure that he could leverage this forgiving quality to great advantage. It would be possible to reduce a runic array _substantially_ just by leaving some things up to intent.

Harry took out a piece of parchment and his quill and sketched two copies of the light-giving tri-rune. Taking out his wand, he touched the cluster on the left, and tried to feed into it the concept of his intent, wrapped in his magic. Using no words, and just shaping one's intent, was similar to how transfiguration was done, which was something he had a knack for, so it came as no shock to him when he felt the slight tug on his wandhand, and the runes lit up, emiting a soft white light.

Harry pointed his wand at the runic cluster on the right, now, and tried to shape his intent in a different way. When he felt the tug on his wandhand, he looked and saw that the second tri-rune was now shrouded in a ring of shadows, such that he could barely make out the runes upon the parchment.

Then something peculiar happened. The light from the left-hand tri-rune and the darkness from the right-handed tri-rune both seemed to burst out of the parchment, looking almost like a white and black fluid, and they arcked together, and in the center there was a strange swirling of light and its absence, looking almost like a galaxy.

Harry stared, mesmerized, for several long moments, until Wayne finally caught his attention. "Harry! What is that?" he was asking.

"No idea," Harry admitted.

Justin said, "It's brilliant…."

Harry glanced over and saw that Wayne and Justin were both mesmerized by the strange dance of light and shadow. He wondered how one was supposed to deactivate the enchantment. The trick, he found as he looked back to the book, was to 'annoint' the runic cluster once more – meaning to tap it with one's wand or with a magically-charged fingertip – and to instill it with 'empty intent,' meaning the intent for nothing to happen. Harry did as instructed, first to the right-hand tri-rune and then to the left-hand one, and they became light-neutral once more, just ink on parchment.

"Well, Harry," Wayne said after a moment. "I think you've just invented a magical lava lamp."

Harry grinned. Wayne was right – he'd just made his first enchanted object. He asked, "You think I could sell these?"

In Transfiguration, Hermione pulled Harry to a back corner with her. Once settled in, she told him, "I think that I want to design the input-output – the display."

"Brilliant," said Harry. "That's the hard part. Good luck!"

Hermione frowned. "It _is_ the hard part, isn't it?"

"Well, for now," Harry said. "If it's just an abacus and a display, then the display is the tricky part. But as we add more features and components, I think my part will start to get rather tricky, too."

"Well, I'm sure I can do it," she said with confidence that Harry was not entirely sure was genuine.

"Remember, Cerie and Susan are part of our enchanting club, too," Harry pointed out. "If we're willing to share our gold with them, we can ask them for help on this project."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "When did you get so greedy, anyway?"

"Greedy? I'm not greedy. In fact, I like to have enough money to be generous. You can't be generous if you don't have any money, can you?"

She shook her head, but she said, "I suppose that's right. We better get to work."

Transfiguration could never be as boring as History, but after Harry had transfigured his peanut into a pea pod and back again and over again several times, he found himself going over his occlumency exercises, just to stay focused, and prevent himself from transfiguring the peanut into the shape of the runes that were dancing around in his mind's eye unbidden.

"Hermione," he whispered after a while. "Take Susan and Cerie to the lab after dinner. We should get the enchanting workshop operational as soon as possible. I might lose my mind otherwise."

Hermione nodded, looking very serious, and Harry saw that her peanut had rather suspiciously taken on the shape of the _sewhwanan_ rune, which represented vision, perception and illusion – undoubtedly, one of the central runes for her part of the project.

Lavender caught Harry by the elbow as he tried to exit the classroom, and he almost asked her what she wanted before he finally remembered what he had planned for that afternoon. "Where do you think you're going?" she asked coyly, batting her eyelashes in an unpracticed way.

"Let's wait in the corridor for the others," he said.

"Oh, right – so silly …" she said, flushed. Harry wondered if she had forgotten that they were not meeting one-on-one, and he looked at her curiously. Ernie, Justin and Wayne passed by, noticed Lavender's expression, and exchanged mirthful glances and suppressed laughter, and then Neville, Hermione and Cerie came by, and now Lavender was staring at her shoes, and they just looked at the pair strangely.

"Right – where's Kevin, anyway?" he asked.

"He was just here …"

And he was there again, walking out of the classroom side-by-side with Draco, the latter of whom was fixing the former with a rather peculiar look. "Harry. Lavender," said Kevin, and they nodded to him. "Do you know, when you asked us to meet after Transfiguration, it somehow escaped my mind that it's _lunch_ after Transfiguration."

"Oh, that's all right," said Harry. "We'll talk things over in the kitchens."

Finding that agreeable, the quartet of education reformers made their way down to the Entrance Hall, through Hufflepuff Hall and into the kitchens, and were seated and served by a group of the ever-eager elves.

"Right, then," said Draco. "What's the plan?"

"Hm?" Harry said around a mouthful of corned beef sandwich, looking around at the group. He swallowed, and said, "The plan was for us each to come up with our own plans, wasn't it?"

It was like déjà vu. The way that the other three looked to him for _his_ ideas reminded Harry very much of how the first years of Hufflepuff had really expected him to come up with a plan for Project Zabini (other than Susan's memorable laxative potion suggestion, of course). Now, looking around at their blank and chagrined faces, he thought that he might as well leverage his position as a leader, and he said, "Well? Nothing?"

"I've got something," Lavender said after a moment, "but it's not very good."

"Well, go on," Draco said impatiently.

"Well. I was just thinking. Why don't we just issue a formal complaint to the Ministry and request that the Department of Magical Education launch an investigation? That way, we can bypass the normal Hogwarts channels, like the Board of Governors." To Lavender's credit – or perhaps not – she sent a small, apologetic smile in Draco's direction when she said this last bit.

"Brilliant," said Harry. "Will it work?"

"Hogwarts isn't like Shaftly and Lawrence Bay and Helsing schools," Kevin pointed out. "They're all bound by strict regulations. But Hogwarts, as an elite private school, has always been given more leeway."

"But is that a good thing, really?" Harry asked. "I mean, these regulations that the other schools are forced to abide – would they allow incompetents like Quirrell, or _dead people_ like Binns to jeopardize our educations? – and waste our money?" he added, glancing at Lavender, recalling her impassioned speech from the day before.

"Well, yes, it _is_ a good thing," Draco said. "It's what gives the professors the freedom to pursue their own curriculum, challenging their students, expecting excellence. The Ministry regulations that govern the other schools expect mediocrity. It would be a mistake to go over the Board's heads with this."

Draco's personal stake was plain to anyone, but his points made sense. "In that case, perhaps it's best not to go to the Ministry if we can avoid it," said Harry. Kevin and Draco nodded, while Lavender looked only slightly put out by her idea being put on the back burner. "But even so..." He trailed off, not wanting to be the one to say it.

"We've only had lukewarm success going through the Board of Governors," Kevin completed. Harry tried not to look too grateful while Draco tried not to look too pained.

"What about just asking Dumbledore?" Lavender said. The three boys looked at her, perplexed. "I mean, have we tried asking Dumbledore yet? Because going to the Board of Governors is going over _his_ head, isn't it?"

Harry nodded slowly. It was the most direct course of action, clearly, yet it had not occurred to him simply because he had his own reservations about the Headmaster. Yet he would be remiss to allow his own personal feelings to interfere with this collaborative project. The only thing was – "Actually, I like that idea. But who's going to go to Dumbledore?"

The representatives of the other three Houses looked at him curiously. Deciding not to beat around the bush, Harry said plainly, "Because I won't."

Kevin and Draco looked at each other, and then simultaneously directed their gazes towards Lavender. "It was your idea," Draco pointed out.

She looked like she was going to be sick, but she firmed up her lips and nodded.

"Plus which, you're the best speaker," Harry added.

Her green about the gills look vanished, replaced by a bright grin, and she said, "It'll be my pleasure!"

Plan of action in place, Harry decided to change the subject to something that he thought Lavender would appreciate, lest she change her mind. "So, Lavender," said he. "Have you thought of what we should call our organization?"

"Oh, yes!" she gushed. "I had so many good ideas, but I finally settled on one that I think you boys will like – the Society for the Advancement of Scholastics at Hogwarts."

"Sash?" Harry repeated, wondering in what sense that was something that the boys would go in for. "Well. All right, I sort of like it. Kevin? Draco?"

Kevin tilted his head noncommittally. Draco snorted, then looked away, apparently bored by the whole thing.

" _And_ ," Lavender said, "I propose that, as a symbol of unity, we all wear these _wonderful_ sashes –"

But Harry and Draco were shaking their heads and saying, "No, no, no," well before she had produced the purple and white patterned strips of silk from her bag, and upon actually seeing the accursed things, Harry and Draco rapidly stood from their chairs and started making to the kitchen exit, leaving Lavender to hurry after them, Kevin looking around in bewilderment. "Oh, do wait up!" she exclaimed. "Fine. How about black? Would that work for you?"

They looked around at each other. "It would be an improvement," Draco allowed.

"I'd have to see it before I agreed to wear it," said Harry.

"I don't really wear scarfs," said Kevin as he approached the other three.

"It's not a _scarf_ ," she huffed. "It's a _sash_. It's like a belt. Don't you know anything? Anyway. We're not done with this meeting, Sit back down, you lot."

Once they had very reluctantly resumed their seats, Lavender said, "You know, I can't go to Dumbledore empty-handed. I think we should have another petition."

Draco rolled his eyes, apparently not savoring the concept of missing half of his dinner to collect signatures _again_. But Harry saw Lavender's point and said, "That's agreeable," before Draco could voice a complaint.

"Yay!" she said. Draco looked like he was about to choke. Kevin looked like he didn't understand the word. Lavender cleared her throat, and she said, "Since _I_ already have the important job of taking our complaints to the Headmaster, I'd like for one of you –" except she was staring directly at Kevin "– to draft the petition and make copies of it." Harry and Draco followed her lead and stared at Kevin, who sighed and nodded his consent, muttering something about how he'd probably do the best job of it anyway.

"Now, I think we four make a fine group," Harry said, almost completely honestly, "but this really is a lot of work. Should we recruit more members?"

But Draco and Lavender both said, " _No!_ " at exactly the same time, and Harry let the matter drop without another word, although he did wonder about the vehemence. Lavender and Draco, judging by their shared looks of surprise, wondered, too.

After that, it seemed like nobody else had any important SASH matters to bring up, so they fell into talking about other matters, and Harry eventually found himself asking Lavender, "So. What do you think about Weasley?"

Her face said it all, but her mouth said it more eloquently: "He's such a _cad_! I honestly can't _believe_ half the things that come out of his mouth. He's lost our House more points than everyone else _combined_ , I think! _And_ he's been in detention literally _every single day_ since school started two weeks ago. His own brother's friend, Lee, actually started a betting pool on how long he'll be here before he's expelled – and his twin brothers put gold on _expelled before Halloween_! And you know what? – they didn't even get very good odds for it! And his _other_ brother, who's a prefect, practically has him on a leash! He won't let him out of his sight! He's completely anti-social, too. I don't think he has _any_ friends, now that Oliver and Seamus are avoiding him. _He's just the worst_!"

"The worst of the _Weasleys_ ," said Draco, scowling. "That's low, all right."

" _And_ he's daft," Lavender added. "Do you know, in our first Potions lesson, Professor Snape asked him some question about wormwood or something, and he _obviously_ didn't know it – but then Snape asked the _same_ question at the next lesson, and didn't Ron still didn't know, even though Snape had _told us_ the answer. Then, before the _third_ lesson, Parvati reminded him what the answer was, and he was very rude to her, and ten minutes later, when Snape asked, he _didn't know_!"

"I was there," Draco added, seeing Kevin and Harry's looks of skepticism. "I even heard Patil tell him the answer. The boy's about as bright as a size seven cauldron bottom."

"Sorry I asked," Harry said.

"I'm just glad you didn't hold it against all Gryffindors," Lavender said. "He's not really one of us, you know."

Except Harry couldn't help but think, _there it is again_. The Gryffindors really were quick to turn on their own – like a wounded lion, he supposed. Even though Lavender hadn't been part of Weasley's group, and even though Weasley really was a berk, her words reminded him of what Rivers and Finnigan had done to Weasley, and in a way it made him feel bad for the hot-headed boy. Never mind that he deserved it – that's not what Houses were supposed to do. He liked to think that that's not what Hufflepuff would do.

"Speaking of Potions," Kevin said, checking his gold pocket watch. "It's about time for our lesson."

The rest of the SASH contingent all regarded their own timepieces in surprise before hurrying to the exit. "Good meeting!" Harry called with a wave as Lavender and Draco split off in the Entrance Hall.

"It was, though, wasn't it?" Kevin said, smiling slightly, his voice lighter than usual.

Harry looked at Kevin curiously, and it suddenly occurred to him that he'd never seen Terry or Sonny, or any of the other three Ravenclaw boys, give him much attention. He wondered if Kevin didn't really have any friends in his own House – was Kevin isolated, like Zabini and Weasley? But Terry and Sonny wouldn't do that. They had even tried to make Lisa Turpin feel less isolated – he had noticed that they had taken to sitting next to her in classes other than Potions, where she still partnered with Hermione –, which was difficult considering how she acted all the time.

It was probably Kevin's own fault, in a way, Harry concluded – he was not very approachable, and didn't seem to have any sense of humor to speak of. And unlike Lisa Turpin, he didn't seem vulnerable, he didn't seem like he _needed_ people to help him. Other than the slightly wistful way in which Kevin had just said that he enjoyed the meeting, Harry had never heard him express any emotion other than carefully-controlled contentment.

As he thought about all of the trouble brewing in every other House in Hogwarts, Harry decided to do whatever he possibly could do to make sure that none of the first year Puffs ever had to feel like they were alone. But Puff or not, nobody deserved to feel like that. Not Weasley, not Zabini, and definitely not Kevin.

"Yeah, it really was," Harry said, and he gave Kevin a little knock on the shoulder and a grin.

* * *

Thank you for reading!


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